Confessions and Penance
by imp01
Summary: A string of murders has Mark thinking about sin, confession, and penance. Of course, the judge and Mark are asked to help catch the killer. Story was completely reposted and is only two really long chapters.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Notes: The original story has been reviewed, updated a bit, and finally completed. A big thanks to Susan Zodin for the quick beta work. As always, she has wonderful suggestions for reworking troublesome sections. Thanks Susan for sticking with me for almost 2 years on this story.

And another thank you to L.M. Lewis for allowing me to borrow Detective Parks from her story 'Hellbound'. This story references her story as well as my story 'Riddles and Puzzles'. If you haven't read "Hellbound" you might want to read that before reading this to avoid spoiling that amazing story.

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters or make any money from the writing of this story. This is purely fan fiction for enjoyment.

**Confessions and Penance**

by M. Wood

When April with his showers sweet with fruit  
The drought of March has pierced unto the root  
And bathed each vein with liquor that has power  
To generate therein and sire the flower.

~ opening from Chaucer's _Canterbury Tales _~

**Chapter 1**

It was a warm Saturday morning in April at Gulls Way. Mark McCormick, the resident smart aleck and general handyman, dressed in ratty work jeans and dirty red t-shirt, was busy pulling weeds from the last flowerbed, preparing it for planting. Several flats of red and pink impatients sat in the shade, waiting their turn. He had been busy for the last two weeks converting the flowerbeds from their drab winter look to a profusion of spring and summer color. Nearby pots of vibrant red and white geraniums, lime-green sweet potato vine, deep blue trailing lobelia, and dainty periwinkle-blue campanula, waited for the patio planters. McCormick was actually happy; happier than he could remember being in a long time. He loved spring, despite all the yard work that came with it.

McCormick happily hummed and sang as he worked. Mark thought back to the Lenten Mass that he attended three weeks earlier. Father Atias' homily was the story of a man; orphaned at a young age, who in an effort to survive chose a path that led to sin. But it was also the story of a man, who in time of need turned to God, asking for help and forgiveness. That forgiveness was guaranteed because he confessed his sins and repented. The story described his life and he knew that he was on the correct path now. Judge Milton C. Hardcastle had played a huge role in the change, for which McCormick was very thankful.

Judge Milton C. Hardcastle watched the young man working in the yard. He thought back to last spring, the first one with McCormick in residence. Gardening had been new to him at that point, but the kid picked it up quickly and was pretty good at it. Not that Hardcastle would ever tell him that. Now, McCormick was designing the container gardens for the patio himself. The judge had laughed at first when he saw McCormick looking over his wife Nancy's old gardening books, making notes about certain plants and trying to decide which colors he wanted to use. But now, he watched the young man clearing the gardens, apparently eager to plant the flowers and enjoy spring and the fruits of his labor.

Saturday evening with the planting completed, McCormick enjoyed a beer while he grilled steaks on the patio. Hardcastle came out from the house, carrying a tray and placed it on the table.

"Didn't think 'ya knew what you were doing earlier, but the planters look good…not goin' to win any design contests, but they're good enough for us," Hardcastle said gruffly.

"Thanks, Hardcase. The vote of confidence is overwhelming," quipped McCormick. He knew the judge liked the combination he had chosen. He'd seen the judge reviewing his notes earlier and noticed the slight nod of approval back then. "Maybe I shoulda asked Joe Cadillac for gardening lessons before you sent him to prison."

"Nah…you mighta picked up other skills and that wouldn't been good." Hardcastle turned the steaks and sat down to enjoy his beer. "Besides, it's been kinda fun to watch you flounder in the garden."

"Funny, Judge, real funny." McCormick smiled at the judge, "So, now that planting season is over, whatta we workin' on next?"

"I gotta couple of files, I'm reviewing. I'll let you know later. Besides, now that 'the planting season' is over, there's the grass to mow and the hedges to trim. Still plenty of work for you to do. And when that's completed…gutters."

"Ju-udge," whined Mark in his most irritating voice. "I need a break from yard work. All work makes McCormick a cranky boy." Mark took a sip of his beer.

"You're _always_ cranky," responded Hardcastle.

"Not true, _you're_ the one that's always cranky. I'm only cranky some of the time," smirked the young man with an impish grin on his face. "Besides tomorrow's Sunday; it's supposed to be a day of rest."

"All right…take tomorrow off. Just make sure the hedges are trimmed, lawn mowed, and gutters cleaned by Friday."

"Your humble slave thanks you," said McCormick, grinning as he pulled the steaks off (sp)of (ßadd) the grill.

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Sunday morning, after a rough game of basketball, Mark relaxed on the patio reading the newspaper. He was looking at the front page when the phone rang. Hardcastle answered it.

"Hey, Frank. What's up?…No, I didn't see that." Hardcastle grabbed the paper from McCormick and flipped to the second to the last page. "Yeah, I see it….you sure you want us involved….uh-huh…yeah, I understand…okay…see ya in a bit." Hardcastle hung up the phone and looked at McCormick. "Sorry, no time off today. Frank's stopping by later to talk to us."

"What about?" asked McCormick, after taking a sip of his coffee.

"This…" Hardcastle pointed to the paper.

McCormick picked up the newspaper and stared at an obituary for Vincent Rankin, a known associate of the mob family, who had died on Easter Sunday. "Okay, so why are we getting involved in a week old obituary?"

"Let's just say…Frank has a feeling we should be. He'll share the details with us, later." Hardcastle took a sip of his coffee and stared out over the ocean. "I don't think my files are gonna have much on this one."

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That afternoon, Frank, the judge, and McCormick sat in the den reviewing the unpublished details on Rankin's death.

"Well, Rankin was found with severe burns over a large portion of his body, near the Holy Cross cemetery, in Pomona. It appears he was alive when found, but died before the ambulance arrived. He was gripping a note when found. It stated, 'O Lover of purity, remove all _lust_ from my heart, so that I may serve you with a pure mind and a chaste body.'"

McCormick looked at Hardcastle and back at Frank before speaking, "It's not just a note, Frank. It's part of a prayer. It's the prayer to be freed of the seven deadly sins." McCormick was quiet for a moment. "The prayer refers to lust, but I also happen to know Rankin didn't just favor women. I knew about him in Quentin…every new inmate steered clear of him. Rankin played both sides. He was still serving when I got out."

"Yeah, well he was paroled about three months ago, after serving seven years," offered Hardcastle. "He used to work with Joe Cadillac and the rest of the family. Maybe they didn't want him telling stories."

"Doesn't seem like a normal mob killing, Milt. I mean, normally it involves _bullets_, not fire. The weirdest part of the whole thing is that he had the letter P inscribed on his forehead. What's with that?" asked Frank.

"The P stands for _peccatum_." Seeing two blank faces staring at him, McCormick sighed, and continued, "Judge, I thought you had to study Latin to become a lawyer. _Peccatum_ is Latin for sin."

"How did you know that?" asked Harper.

"I'm Catholic, Frank. There's a lot of things you learn in a school with nuns. We didn't exactly have dunce caps…but it was just as bad…hurt less than the ruler, but still…" McCormick got up from his chair. "I'm going for a walk."

"Mark…"

"It's okay, Frank. I just need to think." McCormick left, allowing the front door to slam on his way out.

Harper and the judge stared at the empty doorway for a moment. Hardcastle spoke first, "Guess, there's a few things from his past still…Frank, I swear I'll _never_ understand that kid."

"It's okay. I just thought I'd see if you guys had any ideas. So far, all we have is one body, a portion of a prayer, and the indication that the victim was a lustful sinner." Frank looked over at Hardcastle. "I think I'll be going. Claudia said something about being on time for dinner tonight or _else_…"

"Well, then I guess you'd better get going. Why don't you ask Claudia about dinner over here next Saturday? We haven't gotten together in awhile."

"Sounds like a plan. I'll check with Claudia." Frank waved to Hardcastle as he headed out the door. "I'll talk with you tomorrow."

"Yeah." Hardcastle watched Frank leave and then went in search of McCormick.

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Monday morning, found McCormick sitting on the couch in the gatehouse with a cup of coffee and notepad, listening to the stereo. There had been the usual game of gorilla ball despite the fact that both men had stayed up late watching movies, even though McCormick insisted that he was actually doing homework for this semester's class.

He had an assignment due on Tuesday night and he was trying to put it all together in his notepad before sitting down at the judge's typewriter.

"I'm too _old_ for this stuff….why couldn't I have done this ten years ago?" grumbled the young man as he took a sip of his coffee. "Then again, ten years ago I wouldn't have had the unique life experiences to share in this essay; an essay on the social and psychological factors of the criminal mind…sounds like the story of my life put into five pages or less."

He placed the notepad down and went over to the stereo to change the record. As he was starting the new album,(phr) Hardcastle came into the gatehouse.

"McCormick, when are you going to get the pool cleaned?"

"After lunch but before dinner…" Seeing the glare from the judge, McCormick quickly said, "As soon as I finish this essay…"

"Which class are you taking now?" The judge knew that the young man had been taking classes for the last six months, trying to avoid the Jazzmasters. The judge was pleased to see the kid trying to do something constructive with his time. His file on McCormick indicated that the kid had taken several classes before prison and more while inside. The kid was smart. Couldn't deny that, but he'd also made several dumb mistakes.

"Just a sociology class…thought I'd try something different since English Lit. wasn't helping me find a date."

"Cute, McCormick. Like sociology will be any better. So, what's the essay on?"

"Different social problems…the usual stuff…gangs, drugs, divorce, dealing with donkeys…It's just an entry level course," Mark explained with a smile. There was no way he wanted to tell the judge that he was actually taking SOC480 – Criminology or that he was working on a Bachelor of Arts degree in Philosophy with a Pre-law focus. With the classes he had taken earlier in life and the classes he had already completed since prison, he only had a few more to go before he completed his degree. He'd already applied to law school, with Frank's help for letters of recommendation and such stuff, and was hoping to begin next January.

"Oh, well, let me know if you need anything." Hardcastle sensed the kid wanted to finish the essay in peace. "Just get the pool cleaned today. It's turning green."

"Yeah, yeah…give me an hour."

The judge left and McCormick sat back down, breathing a sigh of relief. "_How much longer can I keep this hidden from the judge? (__ß__Add) It's bad enough, Frank and Claudia know…" _

An hour later, McCormick emerged from the gatehouse and began to clean the pool, while the judge read a book. Forty-five minutes later, the job was done and he was putting the skimmer away when he heard a car pull into the driveway. A few minutes later, Frank walked around the drive, headed for the patio.

"Hey, Milt," he waved, smiling.

"Frank, you're just in time for lunch. McCormick's making burgers."

"I _am_? When was that decided?" asked the indignant young man returning from the pool house.

"I just did. Frank and I need to talk for a few minutes, and since you didn't eat the breakfast I made, you can make lunch. Make mine a cheeseburger." Hardcastle looked at Frank and asked, "You want cheese also?"

"Sure, why not?" replied Frank, trying hard not to laugh at McCormick's look of frustration.

McCormick looked at the judge and then at Frank. "All right, I gotta clean up first, unless you want chemical burgers." The young man walked to the gatehouse.

"Milt, you sure do keep him on his toes."

"Yeah. He's been slow getting things done around here…says he has homework to get done."

"Well, the gardens look good. Those musta taken some time." Frank looked at Hardcastle and asked in a serious voice, "When's the last time he actually had a day off? And I mean, a day to do whatever he wants."

"I don't know…back when Angie's kids were here, he played with them a bit." Hardcastle watched Frank's expression. "Don't tell me you're going soft on him?"

"No. I'm just saying you could try to give the kid a break. He's been very busy this spring with the whole Weed Randall thing and the Nazis 'gold. He continues to take classes at night, and of course there's your files."

"Yah, _well_…" Hardcastle looked back towards the gatehouse, just in time to see the subject of their discussion walking their way. "…maybe I'll let him have this weekend off…provided he gets his chores done this week."

"You're all heart, Milt."

The phone rang, Hardcastle answered it and handed it to Frank. A few minutes later, Frank hung up the phone.

"Do you guys feel like taking a drive?" asked Harper.

"Sure, let me get McCormick."

An hour later, the three of them arrived at the Castle Peak portion of the El Escorpion Park. Two patrol cars and the coroner's car were already in the parking lot. A couple of hikers were talking with a tall police officer. Frank parked his police car near the other patrol vehicles. The police lieutenant went over to talk with the officer in charge as the judge and McCormick got out of the truck.

Hardcastle suppressed a shiver as he remembered the area from the previous summer1. He was thankful that McCormick still didn't know this was the area that contained the cave he had been left to die in. The judge stood next to McCormick, who was leaning against the GMC.

"What are we doing here?" Mark asked. He could sense the judge's uneasiness with the location and he understood it. He knew from his talks with Father Atias, that Castle Peak was where he had been found.

After a few minutes, the judge walked over to the group of police officers. McCormick following a minute later. As he approached Harper and the judge he heard the lieutenant saying, "Well, a body has been found by some hikers. It appears that the victim had been tied to a tree near the creek. Apparently he died of dehydration and exposure. We have another note…"

"Let me guess, there's another P on his forehead," interjected McCormick.

"Actually, there are _two_ P's on his forehead," answered Frank, looking at McCormick suspiciously.

"What'd the note say?" asked Hardcastle.

Harper produced a small clear evidence bag with a piece of paper in it. He looked at it and read, "O Teacher of abstinence, help me to serve you rather than our appetites. Keep me from _gluttony_ - the inordinate love of food and drink and let me hunger and thirst for your justice."

"It's another portion of the prayer," came the soft response from McCormick. "Who's the victim, Frank?"

"Sid Marinesco."

"Sid? Wasn't he one of Cadillac's old adversaries? Big man, about 300 pounds. What the heck would _he_ be doing here?" asked Hardcastle. "Doesn't he have a winery near San Francisco?"

"Yeah, he did."

"He was visiting his niece. They were at mass on Good Friday…" McCormick walked back to the truck.

"Have you called in a profiler yet?" asked Hardcastle, watching the retreating back.

"No, but I'm going to."

Frank and Hardcastle talked with Detective Harris, the officer on scene, and the coroner, before Hardcastle returned to the truck. Climbing into the truck, the judge looked at McCormick, who was sitting straight in the seat, the tension clearly visible on his face, and asked, "You okay?"

"Yeah. Can we go home, please?" McCormick had spoken quietly but there was no mistaking the strain in his voice.

"Yeah, we'll go home." The judge put the truck in gear, anxious to leave the memories of last summer behind. He glanced over to his passenger. "What are you thinking?"

"Why didn't you tell me about this place?"

"You know about this place?" Hardcastle asked in surprise. "I didn't think you did , and I wasn't about to drag up those memories."

"Yeah, I know about it. Father Atias told me when I asked him. He was surprised that you hadn't told me…but then again…I guess I can understand it. Thanks, Judge."

They drove in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. Upon returning to the estate, Hardcastle headed towards the main house, intending to make dinner. As soon as he saw McCormick heading to the gatehouse he called out, "Dinner's in an hour…"

00000

An hour later, there was still no sign of McCormick. Hardcastle pulled the meatloaf from the oven and began to dish up dinner. Another twenty minutes passed and there still was no McCormick. Heading towards the door, intending on rounding up the wayward ex-con, the judge heard the sound of the Coyote pulling out of the garage.

"Damn, where you goin' _now_, McCormick?"

Hardcastle ate dinner alone, awaiting McCormick's return. A little after10 pm, the distinct growl of the Coyote's engine was heard coming up the drive. Hardcastle looked out the den window and watched the young man head to the gatehouse, books in hand. A few minutes later, the front door opened.

"Where you been, kid?" asked Hardcastle when the young man came into the den.

"Out. I needed to think and I needed to get something," answered McCormick evasively.

"Dinner's cold, but there's a plate in the fridge…if you're hungry."

"No, but thanks. I'm going to bed. See ya in the morning?"

"Yeah…you okay?" Hardcastle looked over the young man standing wearily in front of him.

"Yeah, just tired."

"Good-night, kiddo." The judge watched the quiet exit and sighed. "Guess things aren't completely resolved from last summer's set of adventures."

**Chapter 2**

The next two days passed quietly. McCormick worked around the estate during the day. Tuesday night he went to class as usual, but Wednesday night as soon as dinner was done, he disappeared to the gatehouse for the evening. He was very quiet and distracted. As Hardcastle watched the young man complete his chores, his concern grew. On Thursday morning, he had decided that he was going to talk to McCormick, and was heading toward him when the phone rang.

"Hardcastle."

"_Hey, Milt. You guys busy?"_

"Not at the moment, Frank. What's up?"

"_We have another victim. Can you guys meet me?"_

"Yeah, give me the address and we'll be there." Hardcastle wrote down the address, hung up the phone, and went in search of McCormick.

Walking to the gatehouse, he heard the music even before he entered and saw the young man laying on the couch, staring at the ceiling.

"_Hide my head I want to drown my sorrow,_

_No tomorrow, no tomorrow_

_I find it kinda funny_

_I find it kinda sad_

_The dreams in which I'm dying are the best I've ever had__2__,_"

Hardcastle stood in the doorway and called out, "McCormick. Frank wants us to meet him. Come on."

"Let me guess, victim number three has been found," came the sullen response as the young man stood to turn off the stereo. Mark looked at the judge as the final phrase played, '_It's a very, very Mad World'._

"Come on."

Mark turned off the stereo and followed the judge.

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Thirty-five minutes later, the two of them pulled into a park overlooking the beach. Frank greeted them and directed them towards the victim.

McCormick stopped and asked, "Are there three P's on the forehead and is the victim laying face down?"

"Yes. How did you know?"

"Who is it?" asked Hardcastle.

"Annette Zimmerman, a loan officer at a local bank. Here's the note that was with her." Frank handed a clear evidence bag to McCormick. "She was staked out, face down, and hit in the back of the head with a blunt object. Coroner thinks she died quickly, based on the amount of damage."

Mark looked at the note. "You're kidding? _Annette_?"

"Do you know her?" asked Frank.

"Yeah, she's typically the lector at Saturday night mass. She's also one of the Eucharistic ministers."

"What's the note say?" asked Hardcastle.

McCormick read, "O Father of the poor, help me to avoid all _covetousness_ for earthly goods and give me a love for heavenly things. Inspire me to give to the needy, just as you gave your life that I might inherit eternal treasures." McCormick looked at the judge but refused to look at Frank. "Avaricious. I never would have guessed that of her."

"Mark, what do you know? What aren't you telling us?" asked Frank.

A look of fear and sadness crossed Mark's face, which Hardcastle caught, before the wall went up, sealing off all emotions. McCormick responded quietly, "Nothing…_yet_." He walked back to the truck with shoulders slumped. He didn't want to see Annette's body and he didn't want to answer any more of Frank's questions.

Frank watched McCormick leave. "Milt, I think he knows something."

"I'm not sure what he knows, but he's been very quiet the last couple days. Not eating much either. Something about this killer is really bothering him."

"Milt, so far we have three victims, all marked and assigned to a mortal sin. And all of the victims can be tied to either Joe Cadillac or Father Atias' church. I know it's circumstantial but I'm beginning to think we need to talk with Father Atias."

Hardcastle watched the coroner remove the body. "I agree it's circumstantial and it probably wouldn't hurt to talk with him. Hardcastle looked over to the truck. "I'll speak to the kid."

"Let me know what you find out," called Frank as he watched his friend walk away. The jurist waved his hand in acknowledgement.

Arriving back at the truck, Hardcastle noticed the ragged look on McCormick's face. He looked like he hadn't slept in days. "You gonna tell me what you know or suspect?"

"I don't know what to think, Judge. I just know it's not Father Atias. He would never have done that to Annette." Mark sighed and closed his eyes. "Frank thinks it _is _Father Atias, doesn't he?"

"It does look suspicious. He's planning on talking with Father Atias this afternoon." McCormick remained silent and the judge put the truck in gear, pulling away from the park.

Hardcastle drove back to the estate, glancing occasionally at his passenger who seemed to be sleeping fitfully. They pulled into the driveway and the judge had to wake his sleeping passenger. Getting out from the truck, McCormick headed to the gatehouse. Hardcastle called after him.

"We need to talk. Now." McCormick would have kept walking but the tone in the judge's voice stopped him.

"Give me a couple minutes. I want to get something from the gatehouse first," McCormick replied in a somber voice.

"You got ten minutes. Meet me in the den," commanded Hardcastle heading to the house.

Ten minutes later, both men were sitting in the den. Hardcastle watched the young man in front of him. He was quiet but fidgeted with a book in his hands. The judge tried to read the title, which was carefully hidden by Mark's hands.

"McCormick, what do you know or suspect?" asked Hardcastle in a serious tone that warned Mark that now was not the time to be evasive.

"Do you remember the "Inferno Killings3"? Remember how you thought I was crazy, but it turned out I was right?"

"Yeah. What about them?"

"We kinda have a copycat. Only instead of referring to Dante's '_Inferno_', he's using Dante's '_Purgatory_'."

"Are you _serious_?" Hardcastle looked directly at McCormick. He could see the strain in the young man's face. "Purgatory, mortal sins, and all that crap?"

"Yeah, Judge. I wouldn't joke about this." McCormick got up and walked over to the window. "I've spent the last two nights reading it. By the way, it's not an easy read, especially when the murders are in reverse order." McCormick handed his copy of the book to Hardcastle. "I'm still looking at the study guide, but if you want it, let me know."

The young man had the judge's full attention. "Okay, so what's next then?"

"Well, the journey through the anti-room and Purgatory begins on Easter Sunday, which coincides with the first murder. There are seven terraces within Purgatory, each representing a mortal or deadly sin. Before entering Purgatory, Dante is given seven P's on his forehead, which will be removed as he passes through each terrace. On each terrace the souls are forced into various forms of penance. According to Dante, the first terrace is Pride. Then there is envy, wrath, acedia, avariciousness, gluttony, and last but not least is lust. Dante passes through each terrace, representing his journey from Hell to Heaven…"

"But you said our killer is going in reverse," interrupted Hardcastle.

"Yeah, from Heaven to Hell. Lascivious or Lust was the seventh level, which used a wall of fire to remove the sin of the penitent soul. The sixth level was Gluttony, where the denial of food and water, which continues to remain in sight, is used as the penance. And then we had Avaricious, where the souls are forced to lay face down on the ground, representing the desire to turn away from worldly wants. Our next victim is going to represent acedia or sloth and his penance is to constantly be running."

Hardcastle picked up the phone and called Frank.

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An hour later, the judge and McCormick walked into Frank's office. Craig Turner, the new department profiler, was already in the room. Turner was a tall thin man, about 60 years old. He had dark brown hair that was peppered with gray and large piercing brown eyes. Dressed casually in a pair of chocolate wool pants and a long-sleeve white polo shirt, he looked more like a college professor than an ex-detective, turned profiler. He stopped talking to Harper, once Hardcastle walked into the room.

Frank stood and greeted them. Hardcastle had known Craig when he was a detective and had liked him. Craig Turner was new to McCormick and after last summer's serial murders, he was not entirely trusting of profilers or criminal psychologists. Once introductions were complete, everyone took a seat.

"Craig, can you share what you know about our killer with Judge Hardcastle and Mark?" asked Frank.

"Sure. I believe our killer is a well-read individual who is fixated on Dante's book, 'The Divine Comedy'. He appears to have a Catholic upbringing, since each note from the victims is part of the same prayer. At this point, I would suggest we begin looking for a young man, who has a strong view of right and wrong and is willing to take matters into his own hands."

"Whom are you suggesting?" asked McCormick, fearing he knew the answer.

"Well, it has been pointed out that Father Atias knew two of the three victims and his father knew the first victim. He should be considered a suspect." Craig Turner paused for a moment. "And then there is…" Another long, uncomfortable pause.

"Go _on_. Who else fits the profile?" asked Hardcastle anxiously.

"Well, I hate to say it, but it has been suggested that Mr. McCormick here, fits the description."

"That's _ridiculous_!" hollered Hardcastle.

"It's true, Judge. I knew all three victims, and I'm Catholic. I'm not exactly well read, but I did give you a copy of the book," whispered McCormick looking down at the floor. He looked up. "But, I didn't do it," he said strongly, looking directly at Turner.

"Milt, we have to keep an open mind on this. But I do agree that this doesn't seem like something Mark would do, especially after the last year's murders," Frank commented.

"Mr. McCormick, would you be willing to answer some questions for me?" asked Turner.

"Do I need my lawyer for this?"

"No. I'm familiar with the 'Inferno Killings' and the part you played in helping solve those. I just want to know what you think of this set of murders."

"I don't believe it's Father Atias, if that's one of the questions," offered McCormick.

"_Why_?"

"Because, he's a priest. Priests don't kill," McCormick stated with conviction.

"Even with his background?" Turner asked dubiously.

"If you're referring to his father, Joe Cadillac, then yeah, I still say he didn't do it. Even with his background. Just because his father did bad stuff, doesn't mean _he_ would. It's not exactly 'like father, like son'." McCormick looked at Turner. "Besides, if it _was_ a priest, wouldn't he try to help people go from Hell to Heaven?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean this killer is working backwards through the terraces, going from Heaven to Hell." McCormick sat back with a smug look on his face.

"I hadn't noticed that. Good catch. I'll have to think about those implications a little more." Turner looked over at Hardcastle and McCormick. "Would you mind if Mark answered a few questions for the record, just to be thorough?"

The judge looked at McCormick; the young man seemed resigned to his fate. He then looked at Harper; he also seemed to agree it was necessary. Hardcastle nodded his approval and Harper picked up the phone, asking for an interview room to be set up.

"Mark, I'm going to have Detective Harris sit in on the interview. He's been working on the three murders. You can have the judge sit in, as your lawyer, if you want," Frank offered looking at the young man.

"Yeah." McCormick sat in his chair, shoulders slumped and hands clasped between his knees. He looked tired. Both Frank and the judge knew that this series of murders was taking its toll on the young man. He was too sensitive when it came to friends in trouble, and Father Atias was a friend; a confidant.

Fifteen minutes later, Hardcastle was sitting with McCormick in an interrogation room. The judge seemed relaxed; however, McCormick was anything but. He had been pacing for almost ten minutes before the judge was able to convince him to sit down.

Frank came in with a couple cups of coffee. Detective Harris, who carried a notepad and tape recorder, followed him. Harris was a tall, muscular, young man, who Mark guessed was in his mid to late 30's, with brilliant green eyes and sandy blond hair. He was about McCormick's height but weighed about twenty pounds more. Harris looked more like an athletic surfer than a police detective. He had been with the department for almost three years and was known for being a fair person. They sat down and Frank passed the coffee to the judge and McCormick.

The questioning was completed quickly and efficiently. McCormick had a plausible alibi for the first and third murders; he'd been in the gatehouse and the Coyote was in the garage next to the corvette. The only possible problem with his alibi was that Hardcastle couldn't say for certain that McCormick hadn't left in the middle of the night. The second murder was a challenge since the coroner's office was unable to pinpoint an exact time for when Sid had been chained to the tree and left to die. The best guess was that he'd been tied to the tree for almost a week when he was found.

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That evening as the judge made dinner, McCormick was nervous and more withdrawn than he had been in the morning. Anytime the phone rang he jumped, expecting to have another murder announced or have Hardcastle hauling him downtown. He hardly ate any dinner and was quick to leave for class as soon as the dishes were cleaned up, saying he'd be back by 10 pm.

A little after 11 pm, Hardcastle noticed a light was on in the gatehouse and went over. It was quiet. Not bothering to knock, he entered but didn't see McCormick in the living room. Calling out, he received no answer, so he went up the stairs to check out the bedroom loft.

Reaching the top step, he noticed McCormick sleeping fitfully; a small light turned on next to him. The young man was hunched up in the middle of the bed, the sheets twisted around his body. Hardcastle picked up one of the blankets that had fallen on the floor and covered up the young man. _Oh, kid. I'm sorry. You've been able to sleep without the light for months now. What changed? _Going back downstairs, the judge made himself comfortable on the couch. It appeared the nightmares were coming back, and it would be a long night.

Sometime around midnight, the bad dreams began. McCormick thrashed wildly in bed, but instead of yelling at imaginary snakes in a dark cave, he was pleading for water and asking for forgiveness. Hardcastle tried to wake him, but Mark was completely lost in the nightmare. After ten minutes of trying to wake McCormick, the young man finally opened his eyes. He looked up at the judge and blinked.

"What are _you_ doing here?" asked McCormick, embarrassed to see the judge next to his bed.

"When did they return?" was the concerned response.

"After Sid." McCormick turned to look out the window. "But I haven't been sleeping much since Rankin. I thought the light would help, but it doesn't," came the soft admission. "How long have you been here?"

"A little while. You okay?"

"Yeah." McCormick took a deep breath and released it. " I think I'm going to read for a bit." Seeing the concern in the judge's eyes, he said, "Go on, get some sleep. I'll be fine."

"You _sure_?" Hardcastle watched as the young man slowly nodded his head. "Okay, good-night."

"Good-night, Judge…and thanks." Mark watched as the jurist left the gatehouse. An hour later, dressed in sweats, he pulled the Coyote from the garage and headed down the driveway.

**Chapter 3**

The next morning, McCormick looked better but there were still telltale circles under his eyes. He quickly made breakfast for the judge and sat down at the table. He managed to eat most of his breakfast before the judge asked, "Where'd you go last night…or should I say early this morning?"

"I went for a drive…a few miles up the coast. To one of the overlooks."

"You were gone for awhile…"

"Yeah, I needed to clear my head. I'm okay, Judge, _really_." Mark looked at the judge and attempted to smile.

"Do you want to talk about it?" asked the judge, concern evident in his eyes.

"No…not yet." Mark let out a sigh and took a sip of his coffee.

As he sipped his coffee, the phone rang. Hardcastle answered the phone and held it out to McCormick. He looked suspiciously at the phone. Hardcastle mouthed the name, 'Father Atias', and McCormick grabbed the phone.

"Hello."

"_Good morning, Mark. How are you doing? I heard that you were at Castle Peak when they found Sid."_

"I'm fine, Father," Mark tried to sound convincing. "How are _you_ holding up?"

"_I talked with the police yesterday. They consider me a potential suspect, a person of interest."_

"I know. They thought I was too. But I told them you weren't one and I kinda have an alibi for two of the murders." Mark sighed before continuing, "I'm sorry about Annette."

"_Thanks. I talked with Annette's family. Her funeral's tomorrow morning. Not many families would be comfortable having a possible murder suspect perform the funeral rites for the victim."_

"Her family's okay with you?" Mark asked with surprise.

"_Yes, they have known me for several years, since seminary school."_ _A long sigh. "'Avaricious' – that was not Annette. She may have seemed big on material things, but she really did give more than any member of the church. She will be greatly missed at mass and in the community."_

"So, the killer is picking victims that he feels represent the seven mortal sins, even if they aren't actually guilty of them?"

"_It would seem that way. But remember, all of us are sinners…"_

"Yeah, I know. Dante says we all must pass through the seven terraces before reaching Paradise."

"_Mark, are you __sure__ you're okay? You sound… upset."_

"I'm fine, Father. Just tired and frustrated. I don't like being considered a possible murder suspect, but hey…'once a con, always a con'."

"_Mark, you know that's not true. The judge and I don't think of you like that, and neither do your friends. Remember what we talked about last fall."_

"I remember."

"_Good. I need to be going now. I just called to see how you were doing and to remind you about your monthly kickball appointment this afternoon. Brian and Dave are anxious to play again."_

"Thanks, Father. I'll be there at 3 o'clock, ready to play. See ya later."

"_See you later, Mark."_

McCormick hung up the phone and looked at Hardcastle. "I forgot about playing kickball this afternoon with the kids. It's not a problem if I go, is it?"

"Nah. Go have some fun. I know the kids enjoy it. Just stay out of trouble."

"Thanks, Judge. What kinda trouble can I get into playing kickball?"

"With _you_, I never know." Hardcastle laughed as he left the kitchen, heading for the den.

000000

McCormick was playing kickball, as promised, at the orphanage when Frank Harper called Hardcastle at Gulls' Way. A fourth victim had been found. The judge drove to the orphanage, with the intent of picking Mark up and meeting Harper at the crime scene.

As soon as the judge arrived at the orphanage, he noticed that the kids were sitting around Mark who was talking to them. Hardcastle stayed in the truck, with the window rolled down, and listened to the young man telling a story to the group of eleven boys and three girls. Surprised to hear the amount of emotion that Mark put into telling the story to the kids, he reflected that Father Atias had been right the previous summer when he said that Mark was an amazing young man…a man who would surprise you. Hardcastle grinned as the ex-con looked up and spotted him sitting in the truck.

McCormick finished his story; a story that left all the children laughing. He helped the children clean up the playground and said good-bye to them. He walked over to the truck, saw the smile on the judge's face and returned it; however, the usual twinkle in his eyes was gone. Mark could feel the tension and knew that victim number four had been discovered.

"Story-time?" the jurist asked.

"Yeah. They didn't want to go in after the game, so I told them a couple stories. Can't say that I blame them. It's beautiful outside today."

"Well, Frank called. Get in."

McCormick walked around to the passenger side and climbed in. "I figured he called when I saw you pull up. Let me guess, victim four has been found."

"Yeah." Hardcastle put the truck in gear and pulled away from the orphanage.

000000

Twenty minutes later, they were at one of the smaller local racetracks. McCormick was thankful that it wasn't one he had raced at recently but he was still afraid he might have known the victim. There was two police officers standing next to one vehicle, neither of which McCormick recognized and then there was Frank, Craig Turner, and Detective Parks. Detective Parks was the Mob Task Force officer who had investigated the previous year's Inferno Killer. The judge and Mark approached Frank and saw the coroner leaving with the victim. Frank walked over to greet them.

"Frank."

"Milt, glad you guys came." Frank handed Hardcastle the evidence bag with another note in it. "The fourth victim's note."

Hardcastle read, "O zealous Lover of souls, keep me from all _sloth_ of mind or body. Inspire me with zeal for your glory, so that I may do all things for you and in you."

"Frank, who is it?" asked McCormick quietly.

"Jim Adams, a mechanic here at the track. Did you know him?"

"Yeah, but not from racing. He sometimes works as the handyman around the orphanage. The kids love…loved him." McCormick looked away. "When does the coroner expect the murder occurred?"

"Sometime after midnight. Jim was working late with another guy, who left around midnight. There were getting the car ready for tonight's race. Another member of the crew found him a little before noon," replied Harper.

"Oh, _no_…" groaned McCormick. Frank and the judge looked at McCormick who then asked, "How did it happen?"

"It appears he was tied to the back of a car and forced to run or be dragged by the car as it went around the track. Best guess is that he ran for part of a lap, but then was dragged for another lap or two…" Frank stopped and looked at McCormick, concerned. "Mark, are you okay?"

McCormick's face was drained of all color and his breathing had become very shallow and rapid. The judge quickly put an arm around McCormick and guided him to the ground; into a sitting position with his head down.

"Mark, _look_ at me." Frank said sternly but gently kneeling in front of McCormick clasping the young man's hands between his own. "Focus on me…slow your breathing down." The young man looked up at Frank and tried to obey. "That's it…just relax and focus on slow, deep breaths," the lieutenant repeated.

Neither of them had noticed when Detective Parks approached them. Parks had seen Hardcastle maneuver Mark to the ground and came over to see if they required assistance. Seeing the situation under control for the moment, he stood back and watched the friends talk to the obviously shaken young man.

Hardcastle watched as Mark focused on Frank's face and began to take slower breaths. He remained crouched next to Mark, with a steadying hand on his back. After ten minutes of coaching by Frank, Mark had his breathing under control and the color began to return in his face.

"McCormick?" asked the judge.

"Yeah…sorry about that," was the soft reply. McCormick started to stand slowly while Hardcastle kept a close eye on him.

"Mark, are you _sure_ you're okay?" asked Parks with concern. "What happened?"

"Just a mixture of exhaustion and a bit too much detail," offered Hardcastle, giving McCormick another minute to catch his breath and steady himself.

"Yeah…it's just…" Mark took a deep breath and released it slowly. "well…that coulda been _me_."

Frank looked at Mark, "What do you mean, it coulda been you?"

"Well, think about it. So far, all the murder victims are tied loosely to Father Atias. I know Father Atias…" McCormick took another deep breath and released it before continuing, "…and I have been accused of being lazy at times." He looked away as he whispered, "Death at the race track would have been appropriate for me."

At that moment, another car pulled into the parking lot. Frank looked up and shook his head. Hardcastle looked over to see who was in the car and asked, "Harris, isn't he the detective in charge? A little late, isn't he?"

"Yeah, he was in charge until today. The victim was his younger half-brother," stated Frank. "Parks is taking over the investigation now."

Detective Harris walked over towards the group. His eyes were focused on the ex-con standing with them. As he approached, McCormick could feel the hatred burning in the young detective's eyes.

"How _dare_ you come here? You killed him!" yelled Harris as he slammed his right fist into McCormick's mouth and followed quickly with a left cut to the side of his head, knocking him to the ground. "I oughta _kill_ you!"

Hardcastle jumped to stand in front of McCormick, who was now sitting on the ground and trying to move away from the angry detective. He looked up at the judge with a bloody lip and a large bruise already forming on the side of his face.

"I…I didn't do it," stammered McCormick, trying to stem the bleeding with his sweatshirt sleeve.

"_Liar_!!" Harper and Parks quickly grabbed Detective Harris's arms, preventing him from further attacking McCormick. "Where _were_ you early this morning?" demanded Harris.

"Don't answer that, McCormick!" ordered Hardcastle. He stared intently at Harris. "He's no longer acting as a cop and this is _not_how the department questions possible suspects."

"Detective Harris! Stand _down_!" shouted Frank Harper. "Judge Hardcastle is right. This is not the time nor the place to make accusations or to ask questions."

Detective Harris continued to glare at the judge and McCormick but he did relax and take a step back. Parks and Harper both released his arms but remained close enough to restrain him if necessary. "It doesn't matter, I already submitted my preliminary findings to the DA's office this morning. Both you and Father Atias were on the list as potential suspects."

Seeing the detective take a step back, Hardcastle reached down to help McCormick off the ground. The young man kept a nervous eye on the angry detective and continued to hold his sleeve to his lip.

"Judge Hardcastle, I know this is not easy for anyone, but…" started Detective Parks.

"I know, you need to question McCormick about his whereabouts early this morning," interrupted Hardcastle. "Give us a couple of hours and we'll meet you in Frank's office. We'll get the Coyote from the orphanage and then we'll be there."

"Judge…" began McCormick before the glare from the Judge warned him to not say anything more.

"All right. See you around 7 pm," said Parks.

Hardcastle started to guide McCormick towards the truck when Frank called out, "You bringing dinner or am I?"

"Nah…we're not staying long enough for dinner," responded Hardcastle. "We'll see you in a bit."

As the judge and McCormick left, Frank turned to Harris. "Detective, I think you and I need to have a little talk on proper procedures, in my office. Now. You drive." Frank looked over to Detective Parks, "See you back at the office."

000000

Back in the truck, McCormick looked at the judge and nervously said, "Judge…I don't have an alibi for early this morning. I was at the lookout by myself from 1 o'clock to 3:30."

"I _know_ that! Now do you understand why I get on your case about sneaking out?" Hardcastle glanced over at his passenger. He could clearly see the tension in McCormick face. "Don't worry, kiddo. We'll answer a couple of questions or plead the Fifth. Then we'll head home for beer and pizza in front of the TV. 'The Searchers' is on tonight."

"I don't think so, Judge. I've got a really bad feeling about this interview." McCormick looked out the passenger side window and sighed. "Either way, it's going to end with me spending the weekend in lock-up and if…if I'm lucky, I'll get a chance to finish my final paper and turn it in; in person next Thursday. If not, I'll be mailing it and hoping for an A from prison."

"Kid, you gotta have more faith in the system. You're innocent. You're not going to prison for these murders," stated Hardcastle with conviction, trying to reassure his young friend. "Besides, what evidence does Harris have? _Nothing_! Just a couple of coincidences."

McCormick looked over at the judge. "Hardcase, you have faith in the system; I have _experience _with it…Remember, two years for driving my own car?" Mark sighed again and noticed the judge clenching his jaw in frustration. "I'm sorry. It's just the thought of prison that makes me…" McCormick looked back out the passenger side window and continued, "…difficult…cranky…or whatever this is."

Both men were quiet for the remainder of the drive to the orphanage. Pulling the truck alongside the Coyote to let McCormick out, the judge broke the silence. "You hungry? We got time to get something to eat before we go to Frank's office."

"Nah, let's just get this over with," came the sullen response. McCormick got out of the truck and walked over to the Coyote. "I'll see you there." With those words, he quickly slipped into his beloved car and pulled out of the parking lot.

Hardcastle watched the young man pull away and sighed. "Yeah."

**Chapter 4**

Hardcastle went directly to the police station, but sat in the parking lot and thought about the situation for fifteen minutes before he decided to go in search of Frank. Entering the police station, he walked down the hallway, and as he turned the corner, he saw Detective Harris coming out of the lieutenant's office.

"Judge Hardcastle, where's McCormick? I thought he was coming down to answer questions. Or did he run off, afraid to face the consequences of his actions?"

"Detective, McCormick is on his way here; _that_ you can be assured of," said Hardcastle in a stern judicial voice, the kind of voice that caused a defendant to sit down and take notice. "Perhaps you should worry about him filing _assault_ charges for that stunt you pulled at the racetrack."

Frank came out of his office. "Milt, you're earlier than I expected. Come on in and have a seat." Frank looked over at Harris. "Take the weekend and Monday off and we'll talk again on Tuesday. And Harris, I _am_ sorry about your brother."

"Thank you, Lieutenant. I appreciate the time off so I can make the funeral arrangements." Harris nodded slightly at the judge and Harper as he left.

The judge and Frank entered his office and the judge sat in one of the chairs across from Frank's desk. "Frank, is everything okay?"

"Sure it is. If you consider having a serial murder on the loose; a detective whose baby brother is one of the victims; and a friend that's considered a potential suspect, 'okay'." Frank poured himself a cup of coffee and sat down. "So, where's Mark?"

"_Here_ I am," came the response from the doorway. McCormick stood in the doorway holding his backpack and a Burger Man bag, attempting to look relaxed. "Needed to stop for something to eat…" The young man sat down next to the judge, placing his backpack next to Frank's desk and his Burger Man bag on the desk. "Got you a burger too, Judge." Mark held out a wrapped burger. "Do you want one, Frank?"

Frank shook his head, no; smiling at the obvious act that the young man was putting on.

"Thanks, but I thought you said you weren't hungry?" Hardcastle took the offered burger and watched as Mark quickly unwrapped his burger.

"Changed my mind…" McCormick took a large bite, chewed and then quietly said, "Last supper and all that stuff…not sure when I'll get another Burger Man."

Hardcastle glowered at the young man who was intent on eating his burger and fries. The judge looked over at Harper who was quietly watching the young man in front of him.

"_Mark_…" began the lieutenant.

"Frank, it's okay. I understand how these things work; and I'm just being realistic. At this point, I'm a potential suspect who happens to have a record. The other potential suspect is a Catholic Priest. Who do you _think_ the arrest warrant is going to come for?" McCormick finished the burger and pulled another one from the bag. "Last chance," said Mark holding out the burger.

Harper shook his head and watched the young man unwrap the burger. "Mark, this is just the questioning phase. Unless there's a reason to suspect you committed this morning's murder or are planning to commit one, we won't arrest you…"

"_Yet_." McCormick took a sip of his drink and then pressed the cold drink against his split and swollen lip.

"McCormick, listen to Frank. You're not under arrest. Now, will you _relax_?!"

"Judge, I'll relax when I'm back in my own bed, working on my final paper, and the murderer has been caught. Until then, uptight and cranky is what you get." McCormick tried to sound like his normal smart-mouthed self, but anyone who knew him knew that he was scared. He looked at Harper and asked, "Is Parks ready for us?"

"Let me call and see. We weren't expecting you for another half hour." Frank picked up the phone and dialed. After a few minutes on the phone with Parks, he hung up and looked over at the two friends sitting across from his desk. "Another ten minutes. Turner's going to sit in on this as well."

McCormick quickly finished his second burger and the remaining fries. As he finished cleaning up his mess, Parks knocked on the office door. Harper motioned for him to come in through the glass window. As Parks walked into the office, Hardcastle watched McCormick's expression go from alive to blank; completely devoid of all expression. The wall was up and it was high.

00000

Hardcastle sat next to McCormick, who stared ahead, focusing on the wall behind the officer, while Parks advised him of his rights. Mark responded that he understood his rights, acknowledged Hardcastle as his legal counsel, and that he was willing to answer questions. The remainder of the questioning went as well as McCormick had expected. As soon as Parks learned that McCormick didn't have an alibi for his whereabouts in those early morning hours, combined with the loose gatehouse alibi for the other murders and the familiarity with all of the victims, McCormick was being held over for further questioning and until the DA had a chance to review his comments.

Throughout the entire interview, McCormick never spoke with emotion. His facial expression never changed. It was as if the life that was Mark McCormick had been replaced with a robot that was only capable of answering questions in a soft monotone voice. Both Hardcastle and Frank noticed the change in the young man and were concerned. They were familiar with McCormick's protective wall, but something about this one was different. Maybe it was the height of it, or maybe it was the fact that they understood the magnitude of what was at risk and would be lost if Mark was charged with murder.

"Judge, please stay here with Frank. I don't need you to watch this," said McCormick as Parks started to lead him from the interview room.

"McCormick, it's not a big deal. It's not like I haven't seen this part of the process before."

"Yeah, well I don't want you to see it with me." McCormick took the keys to the Coyote out of his pocket and handed them to the judge. "Take the Coyote home. I don't want it sitting in the parking lot all weekend." McCormick flashed a look at Frank, pleading with his eyes for him to do something. "I just want to get this over with, lay down on my bunk with a good book, and relax."

"Milt, I need to talk with you." Frank looked sharply at Hardcastle.

Hardcastle looked at Mark and back at Frank. "All right, but he's going into a holding cell."

"No, I'm not," growled McCormick.

Frank looked over at both men and groaned. Parks looked at Frank, almost asking him what was going on. He understood the judge's concern but didn't understand McCormick's reluctance. He sat back and watched Harper play referee between the retired jurist and ex-con.

After another ten minutes of discussion, McCormick allowed himself to be led away. It was going to be a long weekend. Both Hardcastle and Harper had insisted on a holding cell versus general population and he had finally, reluctantly, agreed to it, with two conditions: Hardcastle would not attend the booking process… and would be not be enraged over the situation. Mark was convinced that the next victim would be guilty of 'wrath', and Turner had concurred with that assessment.

Throughout the entire booking process, Parks kept a watchful eye on Mark. Not that he thought the man would run, but the cop had seen the deep concern in Judge Hardcastle's eyes whenever he looked at McCormick. Harper had told Parks a bit about the judge and the ex-con's relationship after last year's murders. It was a unique friendship and both men benefited greatly from it. Now, the judge looked tired and McCormick looked depressed. Mark had resigned himself to the fates of the court system and yet trusted the judge to do everything he could within its rules for him.

000000

McCormick had been sitting on the bed in his holding cell for twenty minutes; his knees drawn up and his back against the wall. Suddenly, he heard the sound of a key in the lock. When the door opened, Lieutenant Harper stood in the entryway.

"Lieutenant." Mark said formally, not sure if someone was with Frank in the hallway.

"Mark, I just wanted to let you know that I sent Milt home. It's after ten, and he looked tired." Frank watched McCormick's face for a moment and then came further in and closed the door. "He said to make sure you got some sleep tonight."

"Not going to happen. Can't sleep in here," mumbled the young man, looking down at his hands.

"_Why_? Because the nightmares are back?" asked Frank. McCormick remained silent but glared at him angrily. "He's _concerned_ about you, Mark. He said you haven't been sleeping much and quite frankly, you look terrible."

"I'm fine," was the terse response.

Harper looked at the young man closely. He could see the wall was getting higher and it wasn't going to come down for him. "Do you need anything? A book or something?"

McCormick looked at Frank for a moment and relaxed. "I left my backpack in your office. Is it still there?" He watched the lieutenant nod his head affirmatively. "Could you bring me the pencil, notepad and the brown book that are in there? My final paper is due next week… and I'd really like to finish it."

"Sure, I think that'll be okay. Give me a few minutes and I'll be back."

"Thanks." He watched the older man leave and heard the click of the lock. Leaning back against the wall, he closed his eyes and sighed.

It seemed like forever before he heard the key in the lock again. "Mark, here's the notepad and book. Interesting choice for reading, 'The Science of Morality' by Emile Durkheim." Harper handed over the requested items. "So, what's the topic of the paper?"

"You don't want to know, really." McCormick looked at Frank and took the offered items.

"Sure I do…Milt mentioned you were taking an introductory sociology class."

"Yeah, I am. It's actually a class on Criminology." McCormick smiled at the police officer's reaction. "And don't you _dare_ tell Hardcase," came the stern command. "You still want to know the title of that paper?"

"Yeah…"

"Okay, you asked. 'Is the Prison System Effective? – An Insider's Viewpoint'."

Seeing the serious expression on McCormick's face, Harper didn't laugh. "I guess you would have a unique perspective on the prison system."

"Yeah, but you know, I'm not unique…okay, maybe the 'being put inside for driving my own car' is unique, but I'm not the only innocent person sitting in a jail or prison cell at the moment."

"So, you don't think the prison system is effective?" Frank was intrigued by McCormick's topic and wanted to hear what he really thought.

"Not entirely…I mean; it scares the hell outta some people but warps others and turns them into true criminals, and then others seem to thrive in that environment. The system confines people and society labels them. All I'm gonna say is that nobody comes through the system without changing. Good or bad, it does things to the inmates; teaches them survival skills that no one should have to learn, makes them think less of themselves, makes them contemplate…" Mark looked down at his book and notepad, afraid he'd said too much to Frank.

Harper studied the young man in front of him. "Interesting bit of insight. Maybe sometime you'd be willing to share your paper with me?" Mark shook his head 'No', and Frank didn't push the issue. "Well, Claudia sends her love…"

"Frank, you didn't _tell _her, did you?!"

"Yeah, I hadda explain why I wasn't coming home for dinner. Let's just say, there's not going to be any desserts around the house or cookies for the office until you get out…she's not happy with me…or the rest of the department." Frank saw a faint smile cross McCormick's face at the thought of Claudia refusing to make treats for the department. "But, she did promise to bake your favorite cake for you, as soon as you're back home."

"Tell her thanks for me, will ya'? I appreciate the thought." Mark looked at Frank again and quietly said, "I know this isn't _your_ fault, and I don't blame you."

Harper smiled sadly at McCormick. He didn't need to say anything; Mark understood that he wasn't happy about the situation either. "Well, I'd better be going. Lights out is in fifteen minutes but a special request has been granted, allowing us to leave your cell light on, unless you request it off."

"Thanks. I want the light on…gonna study for a bit." Mark saw the look of worry on Harper's face. "Don't worry, I'll get some sleep…later."

"Good-night, Mark. Don't study too much."

"Yeah, good-night, Frank."

Harper left, closing the door behind him and leaving an innocent man to sit and contemplate whether the system was effective or not. He thought a bit about Mark's choice of words and began to wonder just what changes he had undergone because of the system.

**Chapter 5**

Early the next morning, Mark was sitting in an interview room with the judge. Hardcastle looked tired but nowhere near as drained as McCormick. The dark circles under the young man's eyes, combined with the bruise on his cheek and the split lip, made for a very colorful face.

"Did you get any sleep last night?" asked Hardcastle watching McCormick take a sip of the coffee he had brought.

"Some…"

"Meaning, 'No'. You gotta sleep at some point, kiddo. Did they leave the lights on like I requested?"

"Yeah." The weary young man sighed. "Look, Judge, we don't need to discuss my sleep habits here. We need to figure out who is doing this and get me outta here."

"I _know_ that! I spent time last night trying to figure out what other connections there might be between the victims.

"We're still missing something important…a motive for these murders. Do you or Frank have any ideas?"

"Not really." Hardcastle started to pace the room. "Only thing that I think of for a motive would be revenge."

"Against _who_; you or me? And _why_?"

Hardcastle sat down across the table from McCormick and handed him a letter with a familiar return address; San Quentin. "Joe Cadillac. This came in the mail yesterday afternoon but I didn't open it until late last night."

Mark opened the envelope and pulled out a letter addressed to the jurist. He quickly scanned the letter and then looked up at the judge. "So, Joe suspects someone is trying to frame his son but he doesn't know who. How does he know what's going on? It hasn't been in the papers, really." McCormick paused for a moment. "Never mind, don't answer that question. Joe has contacts and if he suspects something then he probably has a good reason."

"Yeah, he probably does."

"Well, if someone is trying to frame Father Atias, then why am _I _the one sitting in a windowless room for the weekend?" McCormick voice was filled with frustration. It was his turn to pace.

"Because, the murderer didn't plan on Father Atias having such a busy and erratic ministry schedule. I mean, you're missing a solid alibi for Thursday night and he has a rock solid one. Who would have guessed that at 4 am, he'd be performing an emergency baptism and last rites in the hospital for a family? Kinda hard for a murderer to work around those types of events."

"I suppose…but _still_…" The young man stopped pacing and looked at the judge. "So, are you going to meet him like he requested?"

"Yeah, I'll be heading up there later this afternoon. I'll visit with Joe a bit tomorrow and then head back here. You gonna be _okay_ with me gone for a couple days?"

"Yeah, especially if this means I can get outta here on Monday." McCormick went over to the small window, overlooking the parking lot. "They have to charge me with something within 72 hours or else release me, right?" he asked quietly.

"Correct. But don't worry, I'll be back before they get to that point in the process."

McCormick continued to stare out the window, seemingly lost in thought before he spoke again. "Judge, is it _wrong_ for me to hope that the murderer strikes again before Monday?"

The question was asked so quietly that the judge wasn't sure he had heard it correctly. "No, I guess if I was innocent and spending my weekend sitting in jail, I might wish the same thing too."

Hardcastle watched the young man nod silently. McCormick was grateful that the judge understood his fears, even when he had not voiced them. Spending a weekend in jail was one thing, but spending the rest of his life in prison, or worse; that was something entirely different.

"Does Frank know about the letter?"

"Yeah. And he knows how to get ahold of me when I'm at Quentin…" Hardcastle saw McCormick flinch a bit. "…in case something comes up."

A knock at the door prevented either one from saying anything further. Frank and Craig Turner walked into the room. McCormick stayed near the window but the judge stood.

"Gentlemen, " began Frank, "Detective Turner would like to ask a few questions about the letter you received yesterday, if you don't mind."

"Not a problem," replied Hardcastle. He took his seat and motioned for Turner to sit down as well.

Turner and Hardcastle discussed the letter and a bit of his and Joe Cadillac's history. McCormick stared out the window, watching the cars come and go through the small window. Frank watched the young man, noticing the fatigue that was pulling on him. A couple of times, he could have sworn that McCormick was sleeping with his eyes open, but he made a slight motion with his head when Hardcastle mentioned something about the Inferno murders, signifying he was listening.

A few minutes after eleven o'clock, Turner stood to leave, thanking the judge for the information that he had and the judge promising to share what he learned from his visit with Cadillac. Turner gave McCormick a sympathetic smile as he left the room. Even he was aware of the strain that the investigation was taking on the young man.

After Turner left, Hardcastle looked at Frank briefly, raising an eyebrow.

"Milt, I need to get something from my office but I'll be back in ten minutes or so to return Mark to his cell," offered Frank.

"Thanks." Milt turned to look at his wayward friend who continued to stare out the small window as Harper left the room. "McCormick." Mark turned towards the judge. "You _sure _you're going to be okay for another couple days in here?"

"Hey, I did two years, what's another two days…" Mark looked back out the window briefly before turning back to the judge. "Don't worry about me. Just go talk to Cadillac and follow up on whatever his suspicions are. I'll be fine for another day or two, but then I gotta get outta here, finish my paper, mow the lawn, clean the pool, fertilize the rose bushes…you know, general slave work…" The last part was said with a smile, putting both men at ease.

Hardcastle looked at his young friend and smiled. "All right, kiddo. I'll be back as soon as I can and then we'll go home so you can get that work done."

"Judge, do you think Turner believes any of your story about Cadillac? I mean, he doesn't _really_ suspect that I'm the murderer, right?"

"Yeah, kid, he believes my story and he doesn't believe you're the murderer. It's just an overly anxious assistant DA that wants to make sure no possible suspects are overlooked." Hardcastle saw the twitch of McCormick's jaw when he said 'suspect'. "Don't worry, you're not going to be a suspect for much longer. Something tells me that the murderer is not going to be happy that you're in jail instead of Father Atias."

"You don't believe it's Father Atias, either?" asked McCormick.

"Nah, it's not Father Atias. I think Joe's onto something…" Hardcastle never finished his sentence before the door opened and Frank walked in carrying a small brown bag.

"Mark, if you want lunch, we need to get you back to the holding cell soon." Frank looked over at Hardcastle with an apology written clearly on his face.

"Yeah, I didn't expect to be able to stay here all day." Mark looked over to the judge. "Go, get the information from Joe. I'll see you Monday morning. Until then, I'll just sit here, relax a bit by the pool, and sip margaritas. It'll be a nice break from the yard work." Mark gave Frank a wink as he joked.

Hardcastle shook his head and grumbled, "'Pool and margaritas'. Frank, you have your hands full with him this weekend. All right, see you Monday morning."

Frank led Mark back to the holding cell. As soon as McCormick entered the cell, Frank handed him the bag. "Here, Claudia said to give these to you."

McCormick looked inside the bag and burst out laughing. "Chocolate chip cookies. Frank, you married the best cook in the world. Did _you_ get any?"

"Nope. She made the entire batch for you. Remember, I'm in trouble until you go home." Frank smiled at McCormick.

Mark quickly handed a couple of cookies to Frank. "Well, since they're my cookies, I'm giving you some. Can't have you dying of starvation because of my poor alibi, now can we? Don't worry, I won't tell Claudia you ate some."

"You _are_ a trouble maker, aren't you?" Frank laughed at the impish grin on McCormick's face. "So how's the paper coming?"

"Almost done. Another day in here and it'll be done. By the way, thanks again for allowing me to have my book and notepad. I know that's not typically allowed, but I don't think I could just sit in here with nothing to do, knowing I've got that paper to finish."

"Well, it's not a pool or margaritas, but at least it's not yard work."

"Yeah, well don't tell Hardcastle this, but I actually _like_ some of the yard work. It gives me a chance to work on my tan and to think about things."

"Yeah, I know what you mean. I used to enjoy mowing the lawn after a rough day on the street."

A young police officer carrying a tray came down the hallway and stopped next to Lt. Harper. "Lunch time, if you're hungry. I'll be back in a half hour to collect the tray."

McCormick took the tray, mumbled thanks to the officer, and placed it on the table in his cell.

Frank looked at the tray and smiled back at the young man. "Well, I'll let you eat your lunch. I'll check back before I leave for the night."

"Thanks. And tell Claudia thanks as well."

Mark watched as Frank left and the door closed. He sat on his bed and looked at the tray on the table. It was a simple lunch consisting of a ham and cheese sandwich, a glass of milk, and some carrot sticks. "Well, at least there's milk to go with the cookies," McCormick said to himself. He picked at his lunch until the police officer came to retrieve the tray.

The day passed slowly for McCormick. He worked on his paper and paced within his cell. The dinner tray came and went. He didn't eat much of it, choosing to eat more of Claudia's cookies with the milk instead.

A little after the dinner tray was retrieved, Harper stopped by to see how things were going and to see if McCormick needed anything for the next day, since he wasn't going to be in the office unless something came up. Mark indicated that he was fine and wished Frank a good night and a relaxing Sunday with Claudia. The police lieutenant looked at McCormick once more and shook his head. "You look like hell. Get some sleep tonight," he ordered.

After Frank left, McCormick resumed his pacing. After completing fifty laps around the small room, he lay back on his bunk, determined to try and sleep, a little.

**Chapter 6**

Hardcastle had watched his young friend being led back to the holding cells and thought back to his conversation with Frank earlier that morning. He was determined to get the kid out of the holding cell before Monday, and if it took a trip to San Quentin to talk with Joe Cadillac, he was going to do it. He walked out of the interview room and headed to his truck. It was already loaded with his overnight bag, and he had reservations for a motel not far from the penitentiary. It was at least a six-hour drive north, and he needed to get going.

Arriving at the motel a little before 7 pm, Hardcastle called Frank at home, letting him know he had arrived and would be meeting with Joe at nine o'clock the next morning. The judge settled into his motel room, watched a little TV, and tried to think of possible suspects that would like to frame Father Atias. He fell asleep with one name on his mind, Frank Zullo, a low level hit man whose son had been killed during a botched hit that Cadillac had ordered on another rival.

The next morning, Hardcastle was at the gates of San Quentin at 8:30. He met with the warden and talked briefly about some of the inmates he had been watching over the years. Then, at 9 am, he was escorted to the visiting area where he sat across from Joe Cadillac, separated by a pane of glass.

Both men picked up their phones and greeted each other.

"Hardcastle, I wasn't sure you'd come, but then again, you have this wonderful ability to surprise me."

"Yeah, well I think the wrong person is sitting in a holding cell back in LA."

"_McCormick_?" asked Cadillac. Seeing the judge nod his head, Joe continued. "Well, it's not McCormick _or_ my boy. Neither of them have the heart to take another life."

"Joe, in your letter you mentioned you had an idea as to whom it could be. Well, so do _I_. Does the name Frank Zullo ring any bells?"

"_Frankie_! Nah, he's not good enough or creative enough to plan and carry out something like this. No, it wouldn't be Frankie."

"Then who were you thinking of?" insisted Hardcastle.

"The name that I thought of is Lou Seton. Mean SOB who hasn't liked me for many years. Maybe he's finally gotten the guts to do something about it. He's got a son, Jonathon, who just started in the family business. His kid's supposed to be pretty smart, and together they might be capable of doing this."

"Are there any _other _people I should be considering?"

"Yeah, one more…but it seems to be a long shot. I'm not even sure which name he goes by now. But when my boy was in the seminary, he had a friend who got into a bit of trouble and was kicked out shortly after his father was killed. The father was a police officer in Las Vegas, who had been working the mob taskforce and was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Got between a couple of my boys and Jack Zimmerman's guys."

"Who's the kid?"

"The kid's name was Jeff Townsend. Not sure if that was his mother's name or his stepfather's name. It was an unusual family situation. Jeff's father wasn't in the picture and the step-father was all he'd ever known."

"Well, if this was a friend of your son, why would he be trying to frame him?" asked Hardcastle.

"They were very competitive all throughout school. They were always challenging each other to see who could get better grades or who would be chosen first. When Jeff started getting into trouble, my son backed away from him; trying to put distance between himself and Jeff. It's a long shot, but it might be something."

"Okay, I'll check out Lou and Jonathon Seton, as well as Jeff Townsend."

Joe Cadillac looked deeply into the judge's eyes. "Hardcastle, make sure you _catch_ this guy. I knew Annette, and there was no way she could have been accused of greed of earthly goods. Her family took my son into their home during school holidays when I couldn't get away and treated him like a member of their family. It's a shame that her kids won't have that sweet woman around anymore."

"We'll catch him. That I am sure of. If you think of any other potential people, please have the warden call me. I have already told him that you were helping with an investigation and asked him to contact me if you think of anything else."

"Thanks. Can you do me one more favor?"

"What's that?"

"If they _do_ bring my boy in for questioning, will you be his legal representation? I mean, I have a lawyer that I would recommend him using for most things, but I think you know more about what's going on, and I don't think there'll be time to get this other attorney up to speed on this problem. I'll pay you the normal fee…"

Hardcastle held up his hand, stopping Cadillac. "Yeah, if it gets to that, I'll represent him, for no charge. I'm already providing free legal counsel for McCormick, so what's one more? Your son has been a big help to McCormick over this last year, so it's the least I can do."

Joe Cadillac looked through the glass, grateful for the Judge's assurance. "Thanks. Tell my boy I'm looking forward to his visit next month."

Hardcastle nodded, indicated he would be in touch, hung up the phone, and stood. Walking back to the warden's office, he made a call to Frank. He figured it was a six-hour drive and Frank could do some digging before he got back to LA.

0000000

In the afternoon, Frank stopped by the holding cells to see McCormick and let him know that the judge had met with Cadillac and was on his way back to LA. As he looked into the holding cell, he noticed the young was lying on his side with his eyes closed, apparently asleep, with the lights off. Smiling, Frank decided not to wake the kid, and went back to his office to continue his researches on Hardcastle's leads.

A little after 5 pm, Milt walked into Frank's office. Harper handed over the information he had collected, and the judge glanced through the file and shook his head. "I don't think it's the Seton family…doesn't seem like their style. Whattaya got on Jeff Townsend?"

"Milt, it's only been a couple of hours and it's Sunday. Give me a day or two. You're not even sure if Jeff Townsend is the kid's real name."

"Yeah, I know. So how's McCormick doing?"

"When I checked on him at 2 pm, he appeared to be asleep. You want to go down and see…?"

"Yeah, let me see him." Hardcastle was up and headed to the door before Frank's whole sentence was out.

Frank followed him with a grin on his face. He knew his friend was concerned about the young man being punished for something he didn't do.

Arriving at the holding cell, Frank unlocked the door and was surprised to see McCormick sitting at the table working on his paper. The dinner tray was on the floor next to the door, untouched. As soon as Hardcastle walked in, McCormick closed the notepad and stood up.

"_Judge_! I didn't expect you back tonight. What did Joe say?" he asked anxiously.

The judge looked at the dark bags under McCormick's eyes and the tray of food on the floor. "Did you sleep or eat at _all _while I was gone?"

"_Judge_!"

"Okay, I talked with Joe. He gave me a couple of names, which Frank is already working on. Other than that, there's not much to tell you."

"So, I get to stay here a bit longer…" McCormick plopped back on the bed, dejected.

"Hey, it's not the end of the world…no yard work, remember?"

The three men chatted for a while before Frank indicated that it was getting late and he needed to get home. Hardcastle, seeing the young man 's rigid posture as he sat with his back against the wall, knew that McCormick didn't want to spend another night in the cell, but unfortunately, nothing had developed enough to warrant his release.

"Get some sleep, kiddo. I'll be back in the morning and hopefully we'll have some more information on the Townsend boy. Hey…I'll bring some donuts and coffee tomorrow for breakfast."

"Thanks, Judge. Claudia made me cookies and they're almost gone, so donuts would be a nice change." McCormick looked over at Frank, "Not that I'm _complaining_ about the food in here, mind you. I just prefer Burger Man to city jail."

"I understand, Mark. Milt's right--get some sleep. You still look pretty worn out."

"What _is _it with you two?!" McCormick threw his hands up in the air. "I swear, Hardcase busts my butt about not getting stuff done around the estate and then the two of you get on me about not sleeping…Make up your _minds_! Either, I'm lazy or I'm not!"

"Cranky. Definitely cranky," commented Hardcastle with a smirk.

"Mark, we are just concerned. And for the record, I don't think you're lazy, just a bit irritable at the moment," Frank said while trying to hide a smile.

"Don't encourage him, Frank." Hardcastle admonished. "See you tomorrow, McCormick."

"G'Night, Judge. See you two in the morning. Don't forget**…**chocolate icing with sprinkles, or powdered sugar." McCormick watched as his two friends left and the door closed.

McCormick spent the evening pacing the cell while Hardcastle spent his in the basement going through the files. Neither of them slept well.

**Chapter 7**

A little after 7 am on Monday morning, the phone at Gulls Way rang and Hardcastle picked it up on the second ring.

"Hardcastle."

"_Milt, we just got another call. The fifth victim has been found."_

"Where?"

"_Father Atias' church. Victim was found in a confessional."_

"Frank, who's the victim?" asked Hardcastle quickly.

"_The victim is Shannon Dupre. She was the wife of Detective Dupre from the Drug Taskforce. They were in the middle of a nasty divorce and bitter custody battle."_

"I'll meet you there in thirty minutes. By the way, who found the victim?"

"_Father Atias did. He called it in. He was getting ready for morning prayers and smelled incense burning in one of the confessionals…We'll talk more when you get there."_

"See you in a bit." Hardcastle hung up the phone and quickly finished his coffee. "Damn, and I told McCormick I'd bring him donuts this morning. Maybe I'll buy him lunch instead." He set the coffee cup down in the sink and headed for the garage.

As promised, thirty minutes later, Hardcastle pulled the truck into the parking lot of the church. The coroner was there as well as two police cars and Frank's sedan. The judge got out of his truck and headed to the building. As he entered the narthex, he saw Frank talking with Detective Parks.

Before he could approach them, Detective Parks walked towards him. "Judge Hardcastle, it looks like I locked up the wrong person for the weekend. Then again, I never _did _believe Mark was the killer. Just following orders, you know."

"Detective, I understand how the system works. I'm just sorry it took another victim to prove McCormick's innocence. So what have we got?"

"Victim was found about 6:30 this morning, in a confessional. She was strangled to death and left in the booth with a burning thurible."

"Thurible…what's _that_?" asked Hardcastle.

"Milt, it's the thing that's used to burn the incense in, sometimes called a censer. It hangs on chains so that it can be swung around. You've seen them before at funerals," answered Frank.

"Okay, got it. Mark had said something about smoke being part of the penance for Wrath…something about the smoke representing the hatred and its ability to blind their vision. So we got one smoke filled room, a victim…"

"There's also the five P's on the forehead and the note." Frank handed the evidence bag to the judge. "Another section of the prayer."

Hardcastle looked at it and read, "O meek Savior and Prince of Peace, implant in me the virtues of gentleness and patience. Let me curb the fury of _anger_ and restrain all resentment and impatience so as to overcome evil with good, attain your peace, and rejoice in your love."

"Yeah, I'm not sure how this killer figures his victims are going to get the chance to curb their anger or restrain their impatience, if he kills them," commented Parks. "I'd like to know who Turner suspects is behind this. We know that Mark isn't, and Father Atias has solid alibis for the previous murders."

"What about _this_ one?" asked Hardcastle.

"Well, the coroner suspects the death occurred before midnight. However, Father Atias did meet with the victim around 3 pm yesterday for a counseling session. He says she left a little more than an hour later. Detective Dupre said she dropped the kids off at his apartment around 6 pm for their week with him. It's a split custody case," offered Harper.

As they walked into the sanctuary the bright yellow police tape stood out in stark contrast to the dark mission style woodwork and the clean white stucco walls. It was a harsh reminder that a murder had occurred in a house of worship; a place that was supposed to be a sanctuary from violence.

Hardcastle saw Father Atias sitting in a pew with his shoulders slumped. Walking over to the young priest, Milt placed his hand on the left shoulder. "Father, how are you doing?"

The priest looked up. "Judge Hardcastle. Good Morning. I guess I'm doing as well as can be expected, given the circumstances." He moved further down the pew, making space for the jurist.

"I heard you discovered the victim. Have you answered any other questions yet?" Hardcastle sat down in the pew.

"Just a couple…like where I was last night and early this morning. _Why_?"

"Well, your dad asked me to act as your legal counsel, if needed. Can you tell _me_ where you were late last night and again early this morning?"

"You _did_ talk with pop yesterday**…**that's good…" Father Atias sighed. "Let's see**… **yesterday I met with Mrs. Dupre from three to four. Then I had a dinner meeting with the Finance Council from six to eight at Stan Teshmer's home. I came back to the rectory and worked on council notes until ten, then went to bed. I was up at five for breakfast and morning devotions. Then I came over here around 6 o'clock to get ready for this morning's liturgy which was scheduled for 10 am."

"When did you find the body?" asked Hardcastle.

"I came into the sanctuary and smelled the incense. We haven't used it since Annette's funeral last week, so the smell shouldn't have been that strong. However, the scent was really concentrated in here this morning, so I tried to determine where it was coming from. After about fifteen minutes of going around the room, I figured out that it was coming from the confessionals**…**which was confusing, because we never use incense in them. I started opening the booth doors, and found Mrs. Dupre in the middle one." Father Atias shook his head at the memory. "I then called the police from the phone in the office, around 6:30."

"Okay. Is there anyone who can vouch that you were in the rectory all night?"

"Yes, Father O'Brian was staying in there with me. He's visiting from St. James in San Francisco. We talked for a bit last night and had breakfast together this morning," replied the priest. "He's going to preside over the funeral for Jim Townsend on Tuesday. I guess he's an old friend of the family. You knew that Detective Harris didn't want me doing the funeral since he thinks I'm working with Mark to commit these murders?"

"No, I wasn't aware that he thought that way."

"Unfortunately, he does. I talked with the church council on Saturday after several members received calls from some concerned parishioners." The priest sighed deeply. "After this morning, I'll be taking a leave of absence until things are cleared up. Father Bernard will be taking over."

"I'm sorry to hear that. I know this can't be easy for you or the church council."

"It _isn't_, but my only hope is that, with me out of the picture, it will be safe for my parishioners. I can't believe how many families have been touched by this serial killer. By the way, where's _Mark_? I was expecting him to be with you."

"McCormick has been sitting in a holding cell since Friday night. I was going over there this morning to meet with him, until this call came in."

"I can't believe he's too happy with that arrangement. How's he holding up?" Father Atias' eyes showed genuine concern.

"Oh, he's grumbling and cranky. But he's doing okay…for someone who looks like he hasn't slept in a week."

"Well, when he _does_ get out, tell him to meet me Wednesday afternoon, at the usual place and time." Father Atias saw a look of confusion on the judge's face. "Don't worry, he'll know what I mean. We've kinda had a standing meeting since last August, for when he needs to talk. Something tells me he might _need_ to…before this is all over."

"All right. Well, I'd better get over there. He expected me over an hour ago, and I never called to let him know I'd be late. If you need anything, call me. In case you are brought in for questioning, phone me and don't answer any questions until I'm there."

"Thanks, Judge Hardcastle. I'll be in touch." The young man stood up and shook the jurist's hand.

Hardcastle walked back over to Harper and Parks, indicating he needed to get downtown and meet with McCormick. Frank agreed to come along and sign the release papers since Mark now had a rock solid alibi. Both men waved good-bye to Detective Parks and headed down to the office.

000000

It was mid-morning, the breakfast tray had come and gone, and still there was no sign of Hardcastle or Frank. McCormick had been up and pacing the small room for almost three hours. _Where the hell __is__ he?! He should have been here by now._ He sat down sullenly on his bed, head buried in his hands. _My God, what if he was victim number five, and they're afraid to tell me! No, someone __would__ have told me. Hell, Frank wouldn't keep that from me._ _Would__ he?_ McCormick leaned back against the wall and drew his knees up towards his chest. He had too much nervous energy for the small room. Taking several deep breaths, he tried to calm down.

A little after 10:30 am, the sound of the lock jolted the young man from his bed. As the door swung open and Hardcastle walked in, McCormick exclaimed, "_Judge_! Where have you _been_?! I've been wondering where you were when my donuts didn't show up. Nobody here was able to tell me." McCormick shot an accusatory look at the jurist. "So, where _are_ the donuts? Did Frank eat them all?"

"Sorry, kid. Something came up this morning, and I forgot to let someone here know to tell ya I'd be late. Anyhow, I got a better deal for you than _donuts_."

"Yeah, what's _that_?" asked a cynical McCormick.

"Lunch at Burger Man. You're been proven innocent. Victim Five was found this morning."

"Ahh, Judge. Please tell me it wasn't someone else I know."

"Well, did you know Shannon Dupre, wife of Detective Dupre?" asked Harper.

"No. I didn't know her, Frank. How come she was the victim? I mean, _honestly_, I kinda expected it to be Hardcase, because of his temper."

"I _don't_have a temper, McCormick! I just have a strong voice, and _use _it!" shouted the judge.

Harper shook his head at Milt's excuse, then addressed Mark. "It was probably because of a divorce – a real bitter one involving kids. She had met with Father Atias yesterday for counseling and was found dead in a confessional this morning."

"Frank, Father Atias didn't do it, you _know_ that, don't you?" pleaded the young man.

"Yeah, I know he didn't do it. His alibi's not as rock solid as yours at the moment, but it's good enough for now."

"Bitter custody battle…I bet she was pegged as being the angry party." Mark shook his head before continuing, "Wrath – the note probably said something like, 'O meek Savior and Prince of Peace, give me the virtues of gentleness and patience. Let me curb the fury of _anger_ and restrain all resentment and impatience so as to overcome evil with good, attain your peace, and rejoice in your love'."

"Yeah, it was something like that. Mark, you need to stop reciting this prayer. It really doesn't look good when a potential suspect knows what the notes say, even when he is no longer considered to be a suspect," Harper said.

"Sorry, Frank. But once you learn the prayers, you never really forget them…especially if you had to write them a hundred times for not listening or doing something stupid in class."

Hardcastle shook his head and tried to hide a smile at the thought of the younger man doing something stupid in class. "Frank, you said McCormick was no longer considered a suspect, so he's okay to leave now?"

"Yes, Milt. Mark is free to go home and get some real sleep."

"Great, let's get _outta_ here," Mark said, picking up his notebook and book. "Here, Frank, you can have the rest of the cookies." He handed the bag with the last couple of cookies to the police lieutenant.

Frank smiled at the judge. "Come on, let's get this altar boy signed out."

Mark followed Frank out of the room, with Hardcastle bringing up the rear. After a few minutes of discharge paperwork, McCormick received all of his personal items back from the clerk and put his notepad and book into his backpack. "Okay – now to Burger Man, and then home to type my paper up. Gotta turn it in tomorrow night. " Mark commented. "Frank, you joining us for lunch?"

"No, some of us have to _work_ for a living…and I don't mean pool cleaning or lawn service," Frank said with a smile on his face. "Besides, I figured you were going to get some sleep as soon as you got back to the estate."

"Nah, need to get this paper done first…"

"And, he _promised _to mow the lawn, clean the pool, and fertilize the rose bushes. Plenty of things to do**… **especially since he had the weekend off," joked Hardcastle. "Frank, call me if anything comes up or if you find anything on Jeff Townsend." The judge moved towards the door.

"Yes, Milt. You know I will. Go on, get outta here and let me get some work done."

"Bye, Frank…and thanks again for the cookies," McCormick said, picking up his backpack and following the judge out of the building.

00000

Back at the truck, Hardcastle looked over at the young man. "Father Atias said to meet him at your usual time and place on Wednesday. He thought you might wanna talk, but I kinda expect _he_ needs to talk as well. He's been asked to take a leave of absence until things are resolved."

Mark's shoulders slumped. "Who asked him to leave?"

"Church council…and he agreed with the decision. He thinks it might be safer for the parishioners." Hardcastle started the truck and pulled out of the parking spot. "I gotta believe we're going to catch this guy soon. I mean there's only _two_ more levels, right?"

"Well, if you don't count the ante-purgatory, yeah then there's only two more, But, if you count the _ante_-purgatory, that leaves _six_ more." McCormick caught the look of disbelief in the judge's face. "There's three ante-terraces and the beach. I can't remember who they represent at the moment, but I'll look it up when we get home." Mark yawned and laid his head back against the seat. "I think one of them was excommunicates, and another was negligent rulers, or something like that."

The judge was silent for a moment. "I guess I should call Frank and see if Turner has any clues on this one. Which way do you think the killer will go; the anti-purgatory route or just stop with purgatory?" When no answer came, the judge looked over and saw that McCormick was sound asleep. "I guess we'll skip Burger Man for now." He smiled to himself and continued to drive.

1 Referenced story "Riddles and Puzzles" by M. Wood

2 Song – Mad World by Tears for Fears, 1982.

3 Referenced story – "Hellbound" by L.M. Lewis

**Author's Notes: **

There are several songs referenced in this section. The first one is 'Lord of the Dance'. It was written in 1963 by Sidney Carter. It is often used in Catholic church services during the Easter Season. The second song is 'Keep on the Sunny Side of Life'. This is an old bluegrass song that many will recognize from the movie, 'O Brother, Where Art Thou?'. The third song is 'Keep on Smilin'' .It was written in 1974.

**Chapter 8**

Monday afternoon at Gulls' Way was very quiet. Hardcastle let McCormick sleep until dinnertime, since the young man was obviously exhausted. Over dinner, Mark brought up the topic of ante-purgatory.

Opening the study guide and setting it in front of him, McCormick looked up at the judge. "When Dante first comes to Purgatory, he's on a beach looking up at the mountain. The beach is home for the excommunicates, or the souls who died while out of favor with the church. They are to remain on the beach for thirty times the length of time that they were out of the church's favor. After that, they can enter Purgatory and begin to complete their penance." McCormick took a bite of his chicken and looked over the diagram of the mountain.

"Okay, so excommunicates on the beach are one step above hell. You said there were three ante-terraces. What do they represent?" asked Hardcastle.

"Well, the first ante-terrace or slope is for the lethargic souls; those who were too lazy to repent until the very end. These souls are forced to remain in prayer for a time equal to the length of time they were unrepentant." Mark took a sip of his ice tea. "The second slope is for the Unabsolved; those who met a violent end and still were able to forgive others. They have to wait and pray to be admitted."

"What's the last slope?"

"Well, the third slope is really a narrow valley for the Negligent Rulers. This one is for those people who devoted themselves to public or private duties and neglected their faith. They are tempted every night by snakes. _You_ might wanna watch out for this one…too many Lone Ranger activities could be considered bad by our killer."

"Funny, McCormick. See if I let you have dessert for that comment." Hardcastle took a bite of his salad and thought for a moment. "Do you think this killer will go through with the ante-purgatory levels?"

"Yeah, I do. Something tells me that this guy is trying to get Father Atias excommunicated." McCormick took another sip of iced tea. "Why else would he be moving from heaven to hell?"

"Good question, kid. I think we're going to talk with Turner in the morning."

Both men finished their dinner in companionable silence. After dinner, McCormick returned to the gatehouse and began typing his paper. A little after midnight, Hardcastle noticed the light was still on in the other dwelling. He shook his head and turned out the lights in the den. He knew it was going to take some time.

000000

Tuesday, the usual 6:30 a.m. game of gorilla ball was followed by breakfast. Afterwards, McCormick started mowing the lawn, while Hardcastle called Frank and Turner for the latest news. Nothing new had been found on a kid from Las Vegas named Jeff Townsend, but they were going to start checking with the seminary to see if the school records could be accessed. Turner _did_ find that McCormick's theory on the inclusion of the ante-purgatory terraces was accurate and was hoping that the lead on Townsend would turn up something useful on the subject.

McCormick came into the kitchen at lunchtime and made sandwiches. He was worn out. The bruises on his face were fading, as well as the dark circles under his eyes, but the stress and lack of sleep were still pulling on him. His head ached and his throat was scratchy. "Just _great_… now I'm getting a _cold_ too," he muttered to himself as he poured a glass of milk and sat down at the table, putting his head in his hands.

Hardcastle came into the kitchen a few minutes later and headed over to the table, grabbing a sandwich from the younger man's plate. "Hey, make your own! I'm starving here!" shouted McCormick. "I didn't eat much over the weekend, and I slept through lunch yesterday. By the way, you still owe me a meal at Burger Man." The younger man sniffed, then sneezed.

"It's _m_y house and _my_ food, so I can eat this sandwich." Hardcastle looked over at the young man. "You still look exhausted. You getting sick? Maybe you should relax a bit this afternoon. The rose garden can wait."

"No, I'm fine, just allergies; one of those yellow flowers is blooming again. I've still got a lot to get done today. I want to finish typing the last five pages of my paper before class tonight. I'll get the rose garden done after lunch." McCormick began making himself another sandwich. "Do you want another one, as long as I'm fixing myself one?"

"One is enough for me. I don't understand how you can eat three sandwiches and still stay so thin." Hardcastle grabbed a cold soda from the fridge.

"It's because I have to push that stupid mower over seven acres of lawn, climb ladders to clean the gutters, and chase after the bad guys when you're too slow. All of that requires calories." Mark put the top piece of bread on his sandwich and took a large bite.

"Hmph. 'Too slow'? I'll have you know, I have caught more than my fair share. Where were _you_ on the last case we did? Still two blocks away when I got ahold of him."

"Yeah, well, it's not _my_ fault I had to chase him through an alley, over a wall, and then over a chain link fence. All _you _had to do was drive up one side street and stop…"

The phone rang and Hardcastle answered it. Mark continued to eat his sandwich while listening to the judge's end of the conversation. A few minutes later, the jurist hung up and looked over at McCormick.

"I need to head downtown for a few hours. Turner wants to talk with Father Atias, and I agreed to act as his legal counsel. I'll be back before you go to class. Don't leave the estate until I get back."

"Judge, they're not going to _arrest_ Father Atias, are they?"

"I don't think so. I think they are just looking for more information on the names that Joe gave me. It shouldn't take long. Makings for beef stew are in the fridge. Throw it in the crock-pot and we'll have it for dinner."

Hardcastle walked to the den with McCormick following him. Mark watched him grab the keys and a couple of files. The judge looked up and saw the uneasiness on the kid's face. "Don't worry about Father Atias. He's not going to be spending the night in jail."

"You didn't think _my_ last interview was going to end with me sitting in jail, either. Do I need to remind you how _that_ one turned out?"

"McCormick, you didn't have an alibi for the fourth murder. Father Atias has one for the fourth _and_ the fifth murder. And he doesn't have a habit of sneaking out by himself in the middle of the night…" Hardcastle stared at the young man in front of him. "I'll be back for dinner. Get the stew started."

The judge walked out of the den, leaving McCormick to listen for the closing of the front door. A few minutes later, Mark watched the truck roll down the driveway.

"Judge, I hope you know what you're doing. Father Atias wouldn't last a night in general population**-- **especially if anyone knows who his father is." McCormick went back to the kitchen, cleaned up the mess from lunch, and threw the beef stew makings into the crock-pot. Once the kitchen was clean and the crock-pot set on high, he went to work on the rose garden.

0000000

Late that afternoon, the ex-con turned college student was back in the gatehouse, showered, and sitting in front of the typewriter. He was determined to complete his school paper before Hardcastle returned.

The judge returned to Gulls Way around 5:30 that evening, finding Mark in the kitchen stirring the beef stew. A pan of refrigerator biscuits was in the oven. As soon as Hardcastle walked through the kitchen door, McCormick asked, "So, how did it _go_? Father Atias's not in jail, is he?"

"McCormick, _relax_. Father Atias is back at the rectory, and Frank is working on tracking down Geoffrey Townsend. We've been using the wrong name. It's Geoffrey, with a _G._ That'll make a big difference. Father Atias was able to give Detective Parks and Frank enough information to be helpful, even though he hasn't talked with the man in over five years."

"Okay…maybe I _did_ over react, but you gotta remember what my experience has been with the judicial system." McCormick grabbed a potholder and pulled the biscuits from the oven. "Dinner's ready."

Both men grabbed a bowl, dished their stew, and sat down to eat quietly. After a few minutes the judge looked over at McCormick.

"You don't have to eat so fast!" admonished the judge.

"Yeah, I do. Gotta get to class. I'm gonna turn in my paper tonight."

"I thought you said it was due on Thursday. Why are you in such a hurry to turn it in early?"

"If things continue the way they are, I'm gonna need to be a full-time Tonto; not a part-time student." Mark scraped the last of the stew from his bowl. "_Somebody's_ gotta be around to watch over you."

"You honestly think this guy's going to go after me?"

"Why not? None of the other victims really seemed like typical candidates for a serial killer, but then again, this guy seems to be attacking those that he thinks represent the sin; even if the victim really doesn't." The young man stood and moved to the sink to rinse his bowl. "I gotta get going, I'll see you later, after class." He set the bowl down, grabbed his backpack that was sitting on the back of the chair, and headed out the door.

000000

A little before 11 p.m., Hardcastle heard the Coyote coming up the driveway. He watched as Mark pulled the car into the circular road behind the fountain, then climbed out slowly. A few seconds later, the front door opened and McCormick called out in a scratchy voice, "Judge, I'm home!"

"You don't need to yell…I heard you come in." Hardcastle watched as the young man sat down in a chair. "How'd class go? Got the paper turned in?"

"Class was fine and yes, the paper's turned in. I'm done until summer session starts up…_if _I decide to take a class over the summer."

"You were later than usual coming home. I was beginning to wonder what happened to you."

"I stayed a bit late talking with the professor, then I grabbed a burger and shake on the way home." Mark ran his hand through his hair. "I did a bit more thinking. Has anyone looked at Annette's work? I mean, she was a loan officer. Has anyone looked to see whose application she may have denied?"

"That's a very good idea. I don't think anyone has looked into that," Milt commented. "We'll go talk with Frank and Detective Parks in the morning…see what they're able to find out."

"Okay, then I'm meeting with Father Atias for lunch. You can drop me off on the way home." The young man tried to stifle a yawn. "I'm really tired…I'll see you in the morning."

"Yeah." Hardcastle watched as his wayward ex-con picked up his backpack and shuffled out of the den. "Get some sleep," he called after the young man.

**Chapter 9**

Early Wednesday morning found both men sitting in Lieutenant Harper's office with Detective Parks and Turner. As they sat discussing the loan application angle, Detective Harris knocked on the door. Frank looked up and waved him in.

"Detective Harris. I wasn't expecting you back until tomorrow. I thought you'd want another day to visit with family and friends who were in town."

"Thanks, Lt. Harper, but I really need to get back to work. It'll take my mind off things for a bit." Harris nodded his head in greeting to Detectives Parks and Turner, and even gave an amicable greeting to the judge before focusing on McCormick. "Mr. McCormick, I'm sorry about the incident at the race track last Friday. Can you forgive me?"

Mark looked at Detective Harris and then over to the judge before returning his gaze to Harris. "Detective, if I had a younger brother who had been brutally murdered, I think I would have had a similar reaction. I'm really very sorry about Jim. I only knew him briefly, but he seemed like a nice guy and was loved by the children at the orphanage. There's no need to ask for forgiveness, you weren't your normal self…"

"Thank you for being so understanding. I do apologize for my behavior. It was not very professional and I hope you won't hold that against me," said Harris sincerely.

"Consider it forgotten," replied McCormick. He was a bit uncomfortable with the nice version of Harris, but he had no reason to not believe that the detective was truly sorry for his earlier behavior.

During this conversation, Frank's phone had rung. After a few minutes' discussion over the line, he hung up and looked at the group assembled in his office. "Victim Six was just found."

Detective Parks headed to the door saying, "I'll be ready in five minutes to go with you. I wanna get someone working on the bank records."

"Detective Harris, I want you to look into the newest string of robberies." Frank handed Harris a folder that had been lying on his desk. "Three pawn shops and a liquor store in two days, all with similar MO's. Work with Officer Williams on it. We can discuss the case further when I return this afternoon."

"Sure, Lieutenant." Harris took the folder and headed for the door. "I hope we're able to catch this killer soon. Too many families…too much senseless violence." Harris shook his head and left.

Hardcastle had watched the interaction of Detective Harris with Parks and McCormick. Something didn't seem quite right, but he couldn't put his finger on it. _That apology was a bit of a surprise, but then again, the detective is known for being a fair man. Maybe McCormick was right when he said that Harris wasn't his normal self last week._

"Milt, you coming with?" asked Frank.

Hardcastle looked over to Frank, "Yeah. Who's the victim?"

"Nick Farrell." Frank watched an expression of shock cross over both men's faces as they recognized the name. "Yeah, _I_ was surprised by this one as well."

"Frank, he's supposed to be in custody, awaiting trial for the attempted murder of Duke McGuire."

"Yes, Milt. He's been at the psychiatric hospital for the past week, undergoing evaluation. That kid was more than a bit messed up, if you know what I mean. Anyways, he was supposed to transfer back to county this morning. Morning nurse found him in his room."

McCormick focused on his hands as he asked quietly, "Frank, were his eyes sewn shut?"

"Yeah."

McCormick looked up from his hands. "_Envy_…he was so sure he would never be as good as Duke."

Detective Parks knocked on the door and came in. "All set. Where we heading?"

"Camarillo State Hospital. I'll explain in the car." Frank grabbed his coat and moved towards the office door, followed by Detective Turner, McCormick and the judge. "We'll meet you there, Frank," Hardcastle said as the group separated in the parking lot and went towards their individual vehicles.

000000

A little after 10 a.m., the two police vehicles and the judge's truck pulled into the parking lot of the hospital. They quickly moved to the main entry, where they were joined by another police officer that showed them to Farrell's room.

Frank, Parks, and Turner walked directly into the room, but McCormick, after one look inside, decided he didn't need to be part of the investigation. Hardcastle saw the body lying on the bed with its arms and legs restrained and understood Mark's desire to wait in the hallway. McCormick placed a high value on the human life and was upset by the loss of any life. The judge placed his hand on the younger man's shoulder and pushed him towards a chair down the hall.

Inside the room, Turner looked over the body and took note of the six P's inscribed on the forehead, the eyes that were sewn shut with thin wire, and the note pinned to the victim's pajamas. He reached down and picked up the note, placing it into an evidence bag. As suspected, the note was another part of the prayer. It read, 'O Exemplar of love, keep me from all _envy_ and ill will. Let the grace of your love dwell in me that I may rejoice in the happiness of others and bewail their adversities.'

Detective Parks also looked over the body and pointed to the empty syringes lying next to the victim. "Need to send those to the lab for testing…might help us learn what killed the victim." Moving a bit of the blanket away from the victim's arm, he leaned down and examined something. "Looks like some kind of beads here." He picked up three small black plastic beads, oval in shape, and placed them in a small envelope.

"I can't believe no one heard him screaming, assuming he was _alive _when that was done," said the judge pointing to the eyes. "Unless, he was dead already."

"I don't believe this killer would have done it if the victim was dead. He seems to want the victims to feel the pain; it's part of the penance. I'm thinking that the syringes had a paralyzing agent in them**… **something to prevent the victim from crying out," contemplated Turner out loud.

Frank looked at Detective Parks, "Get a list of all visitors on this floor last night as well as the list of who was working. Also, do we have any idea as to _when_ this happened? What time was the last check on the victim by the nursing staff?"

Parks wrote the lieutenant's requests in his notepad. Meanwhile, Hardcastle, walking around the bed, noticed something shiny on the floor. Bending down and picking it up, he turned it over in his hand, carefully trying to not touch the flat surfaces.

"Frank, I've got something here."

In an instant, Hardcastle found himself surrounded by the lieutenant and two detectives. Parks opened a clear evidence envelope, and the judge slipped the item into it. The four men examined it for a few moments, trying to figure out what it was, before they noticed McCormick standing in the doorway. The jurist handed the younger man the bag to get his opinion.

Mark looked at the object for a moment before speaking. "It's the four-way medal. See**…**the Crucifix with the Sacred Heart, the Miraculous Medal, St. Joseph and St. Christopher…" he pointed to each part carefully as he mentioned them "…it's from a rosary." He handed the bag over to Parks and walked quietly out of the room.

"I'll have them check it for finger prints," offered Detective Park.

"Frank, I'm gonna get McCormick outta here. Give me a call tonight. I wanna know what you find from the fingerprints as well who's in the bank records Annette was handling."

"All right. Give us a few hours though." Frank looked at Parks. "Who's working on getting the approval to review the bank records?"

"Jim Tabor. He didn't think it would be a problem. We should have the warrant by mid-afternoon."

"Great! We can discuss findings tomorrow morning over coffee."

Hardcastle left the room in search of McCormick. He found the young man sitting in the truck, waiting for him.

"Judge, I'm supposed to meet Father Atias at noon, over at the Santa Monica Pier. Can you drop me off? I'll have him bring me back to the estate later this afternoon."

"Sure, kiddo. The _Pier_, huh. Didn't expect you two to be meeting _there_," replied the judge as he pulled out of the parking lot. "Why don't you see if Father Atias wants to stay for supper. I can throw a few burgers on the grill tonight."

"Well, we don't always stay there. Sometime we grab a sandwich and go someplace quieter to talk. But, it's a great place to meet people and if one of us is running late, there's always people watching to keep the other entertained."

"Yeah, there are some interesting people to watch at the pier."

"I'll see if he's interested in dinner. Can't imagine that his work schedule is all that busy now that he's taken the leave of absence." McCormick took a deep breath and started to cough a bit.

The judge looked over at his young friend. "I don't think you've got spring allergies, McCormick. Have you taken anything for that cold?"

"No. I'm fine and it'll go away on its own." McCormick looked out his window. "I don't think Father Atias knew Nick. This should mean he's not considered a suspect in this case, right?"

"The medal that was found under the bed could be problematic, if his fingerprints are on it and he doesn't have an alibi for last night." Hardcastle watched the young man nod his head in understanding. "But until we get some more information on who was working in the ward or who visited the hospital last night, I don't see how he could be considered a suspect considering his proven alibis for some of the other killings," answered the jurist.

They drove in silence until the judge dropped McCormick off in a parking lot that he indicated near the pier.

"I'll be back later this afternoon. I'll call if I'm not going to be back for dinner," the young man said as he stepped from the truck.

"_Be_ back for dinner. Frank said he'd have some information for us to review tonight."

"All right. Back by four then." McCormick closed the door, waved to the judge and disappeared into the crowd.

**Chapter 10**

McCormick was watching the children on the carousel when Father Atias approached. "Every time we meet, you are watching the carousel. Did you ever ride one as a child?" asked the priest as he shook hands with Mark.

"Once. I was eight. My mother had received a bonus at work, a small bonus. We took a daytrip to the beach. She rode on the horse next to me. It was the first time she had done it since she was a kid." Mark stared at the horses going past, remembering. "We both got to be kids for a couple of minutes…"

"Sounds like a nice memory," responded the priest. He watched the young man for a moment before asking, "So, how are things going? Judge Hardcastle mentioned you spent the weekend in a holding cell."

McCormick smiled. "I'm doing fine. Spent the weekend working on a school paper. Not exactly the most fun way to spend time, but I survived," he said in a playful voice.

"Mark, I don't know how you are able to remain so calm with everything that's going on. How can you make light of spending a weekend in jail for a crime you didn't commit?"

"Yeah, well I've experienced worse things in my lifetime." Mark looked down the pier. "You hungry?"

"Sure. Sandwiches to go?" asked Father Atias.

Mark nodded his head in agreement, and they headed towards their favorite sandwich shop. Twenty-five minutes later, they were sitting in the priest's sedan at a pull off on Mulholland that was just north of the Malibu Creek State Park. It was a favorite spot to park, eat a sandwich, and talk a bit while watching the world below.

After finishing their sandwiches, McCormick got out of the car. He looked out over the drop-off, seeing the valley with the city of Malibu and the ocean on the horizon. The light breeze blowing across the ridge ruffled his curls and caused his yellow t-shirt to flutter. The sun was warm on his back.

Father Atias joined him on the edge. "Beautiful, isn't it?"

"Yeah…it's one of those things that you miss when you're in prison**--**the complete and total sense of freedom that you get when looking out over the mountains or the ocean." Mark cleared his throat and moved away from the edge. "Father, I think someone is trying to have you excommunicated. Can you think of anyone that would like to have that happen?" Mark sat back on the hood of the car and looked at the priest.

"Honestly, Mark, I can't think of anyone that would harbor ill thoughts for me. I know that pop and Judge Hardcastle believe it could be Geoffrey Townsend, but I really don't think so. He may have had some problems years ago that caused him to be expelled from the seminary, but he's not the type who'd kill someone. He might get mad and throw a few punches, but he wouldn't resort to murder."

"How can you be _sure_?" asked the young man.

"The same way that I know that _you're_ not a murderer," offered the priest.

"I killed Weed Randall."

"In self-defense--that's not the same thing. You were pretty upset after that, correct?" The young man nodded in response. "A _real _murderer would have felt nothing…whereas you…you felt remorse, fear, and a deep and profound sadness over your actions. I believe Geoffrey is a lot like you." Father Atias looked at the confusion on Mark's face. "When his father was killed as a result of my father's mob affiliations, he was mad…but he was also willing to forgive. Could a murderer willingly forgive someone for a crime like _that_?"

Understanding dawned on McCormick's face. "Then if it's not Townsend, _who_?"

"I don't know, Mark. After last weekend, I would have thought Detective Harris. But at the funeral Tuesday morning, he asked me to forgive him for his actions."

"Why would you suspect Detective Harris?"

"Well, he was really upset last week, but that's understandable, given the situation." Father Atias looked out over the horizon. "The thing that made me think of him was when Judge Hardcastle mentioned Geoffrey. Detective Harris and Geoffrey are cousins. Their mothers are sisters. The whole family took it very hard when Geoffrey's stepfather was killed. It's one of the reasons that Detective Harris became a police officer." The priest looked back at the ex-con sitting on the hood of the car. "Still, I doubt that Detective Harris would do something like this. How could any man kill his own brother?"

"Cain and Abel…it's been known to happen," offered McCormick.

"I don't think so…" mumbled Father Atias as he returned his gaze to the horizon.

Both men enjoyed the warm spring sunshine, the beautiful view and the quiet companionship for an hour before a rusty gray Ford Econoline van coasted up and stopped about fifteen feet behind their car. A burly young man got out and opened the hood. He appeared to be tinkering with something in the engine compartment and muttering to himself. The priest and Mark watched casually for a few minutes before McCormick walked over to offer assistance.

"Engine trouble? Maybe I can help you." Mark offered. "I'm pretty good with cars."

"Sure, that'd be great. It feels sluggish, like it's losing power. Spark plug or fuel line, maybe?"

McCormick stuck his head in the engine compartment, intending to take a look at the spark plugs, but he never got the chance before the young man slammed the butt of a pistol into the back of his head. Mark was knocked to the ground, dazed. The assailant viciously kicked him several times. Father Atias rushed over to stop the beating but stopped in his tracks as the man turned the gun on him.

"Someone wants to _talk _with you," the gunman addressed the priest. He motioned for Atias to come closer.

The priest looked down at Mark, who was curled into a fetal position protecting his ribs from further abuse. Mark was breathing hard and trying to focus his eyes. Atias walked towards the gunman slowly, keeping his eyes on his young friend who was struggling on the ground. "All right, what do you _want_?" he asked calmly when he was within three feet of the assailant.

"We're going for a ride. Put these on, behind your back," ordered the gunman as he handed a pair of handcuffs to Atias. The priest complied. As he snapped the last cuff, he was spun around and the cuffs tightened. "Stay put, while I deal with your friend. He's not needed at the moment. You move from this spot and I will kill him right here." The gunman roughly shoved the priest against the side of the van, forcing him to sit on the dusty ground.

Father Atias watched as their attacker walked over to the dazed McCormick and grabbed him by his hair, dragging him towards the edge of the pull out. "No, for God's sake, you'll _kill_ him! Have some mercy and just leave him here!" he cried.

The pleas for mercy fell on deaf ears, and Atias watched in horror as McCormick was shoved over the edge. His body tumbled down the slope until he came to rest alongside a scrub oak, about 75 feet down the hillside. Seeing that he didn't move, the gunman turned and quickly returned to the van. The priest was roughly pulled to his feet and dragged to the back of the van.

"You can't _leave_ him there! He could be seriously injured, and who knows when someone would find him…" Atias pleaded, appealing repeatedly to his captor until the gunman slammed a fist into his face, knocking him out. He picked up the young priest's body and dumped it into the back of the van, slamming the rear doors. The kidnapper then closed the vehicle's hood and climbed into the front seat, starting the engine and pulling the van back onto the road. He headed to the designated delivery spot; determined to take the $20,000 he'd been promised and head east towards bigger things. The whole incident had taken less than fifteen minutes.

**Chapter 11**

A little after 2 p.m. that afternoon, the phone rang at Gulls Way and Hardcastle answered it.

"Hardcastle."

"_Milt, we got a list of names already from the psychiatric hospital. Two of them are interesting."_

"Who's on the list?"

"_Geoffrey Townsend_**--**_works a second job as the night janitor. He was on duty from eleven last night to seven this morning."_

"Okay. What's the other name?"

"_Father Atias. He was there from 6 p.m. to 9 p.m. last night; visiting with a patient, Andrew Spencer, whose room is five doors down the hall from Ferrell's. The nurses say Father Atias visits Spencer at least twice a month."_

"Makes sense. Andrew Spencer was an old friend of Joe Cadillac. I guess Father Atias picked up the visits once his father was sent to prison." Hardcastle rubbed his forehead. "Do you have anything more on Geoffrey Townsend?"

"_Not much more. There were no fingerprints on the medal. However, one interesting tidbit __did__ show up – Townsend has a cousin_**…**_ Detective Harris."_

"Interesting. If he's the murderer, why would he kill his other cousin…Adams? Something still seems out of place. Are you bringing him in for questioning?"

"_Yeah, we are getting the paperwork ready but are going to wait until we hear back from the bank. We should have those records in another hour."_

"Great! Keep me posted." Hardcastle hung up the phone.

000000

A little before 3:30 p.m., Hardcastle was pacing in the office, wondering where McCormick was. The phone rang, and picking it up, he heard Frank's voice. _"Milt, got the bank records."_

"Let me guess…Geoffrey Townsend had a loan application denied."

"_Got it in one! He applied for a small business loan, looking for about $45,000 to start a book store and coffee shop."_

"Doesn't seem like a very big loan. I wonder who the business partner was?"

"_The application didn't list one…just indicated that he had another $20,000 in assets that he was willing to use."_

"Okay, so Townsend has his application denied and gets mad enough to kill Annette. I _get_ that possibility. But the other victims…what's the connection… and why make it look like Father Atias is responsible? Still angry about his stepfather's death? Maybe…"

"_We're bringing him in for questioning, Milt. Do you want me to call you when we're done_?" asked Harper.

"Nah, I'm expecting McCormick anytime now. I think he's bringing Father Atias by for dinner as well. Coffee and donuts tomorrow…"

"_Okay, we'll talk again tomorrow morning. Have a good evening_." Both men hung up.

Hardcastle went into the kitchen and began to make burgers. A little after 4 p.m., he noted that McCormick hadn't called and still hadn't arrived. _Kid, where __are__ you? I'll give you another half hour, and then I'm calling around._

The half hour passed quickly and Hardcastle looked up the number for the rectory in his Rolodex. Finding it, he quickly dialed the number. Father Bernard answered the phone and was able to confirm that Father Atias had not returned to the rectory since he left before lunch. Hardcastle thanked the priest for his time and hung up. Pacing around the den, he began to wonder if the two friends had got to talking and lost track of time. _Give it a bit longer_….

A little after six, Hardcastle called Harper. "Frank, gotta problem here," said the judge in a serious tone.

"_What __is__ it, Milt?"_ asked Harper suddenly aware of the concern in Hardcastle's voice.

"McCormick and Father Atias are missing. McCormick was supposed to be back by four and was going to call if he was running late. I called the rectory a bit before 5 p.m. and Father Bernard indicated that Father Atias had not returned. I think something's happened."

"_Milt, he's only two hours late. I'm sure they're having dinner somewhere and lost track of time," _replied Harper, trying to appease the concerned jurist.

"Frank, we have a serial killer on the loose, who happens to be targeting Catholics, and you want me to believe that McCormick and Father Atias are sitting at a restaurant having a few drinks…I don't _think_ so. I want an APB out on the two of them and Father Atias' car…now."

"_Milton…" _Harper sighed_. "Okay, what's Father Atias' car look like?"_

"I don't know. Look it up in records. McCormick was wearing a yellow t-shirt and jeans when I left him at the Santa Monica pier. He was meeting with Father Atias for lunch. I don't think they stayed at the pier though…he said something about going someplace quiet to talk."

"_Where would they go?" _asked Harper.

"How do _I _know? I didn't even know that they met on a semi-regular basis until Monday," declared the judge in an exasperated voice. "Just put the APB out. I'll check back if I hear from McCormick."

"_Yes, Milt. I'll keep you posted," _responded the lieutenant_._ He hung the phone up and shook his head before placing a call to get the information on the priest's car.

000000

An hour later, Frank picked up the phone, dreading the call he had to make. He dialed quickly and the phone was answered on the first ring.

"McCormick, where the hell _are_ you?!" shouted the judge into the phone.

"_I take it you haven't heard from him yet?"_ responded Harper in his calmest voice.

"No, I haven't heard from him. What do you know?"

"_An APB was issued a few minutes ago for one Mark McCormick, one Father Atias, and a tan 1982 Buick Skylark with license plate BV5494. Hopefully someone will see one of them shortly."_

"Thanks. Have you had any luck with Townsend?"

"_He was brought in, questioned, and released. He had good alibis for five of the six murders. The only bad thing was that the sixth murder took place during the shift he was working at the hospital. Nothing else to tell…looks like a dead end."_

"Did you ask about the business partner?"

"_Yeah, it was his cousin, Detective Harris. He was willing to help finance the bookstore, if needed, but he was going to be a silent partner. Townsend said Harris was going to help him out, provided he could get a free cup of coffee, once in a while."_

"So we got nothing…"sighed Hardcastle. "Thanks, Frank. I appreciate the help."

"No problem, Milt. I'll let you know if we find anything."

A little after eight, Hardcastle turned the TV on, trying to relax with an old movie. He didn't want to go to sleep, still hoping McCormick might call or come home. However, the later it got, the more convinced he was that something bad had happened.

**Chapter 12**

Father Atias woke to find himself on top of a sleeping bag, locked in a small room that appeared to be inside an abandoned apartment. The window was boarded up and the light filtering into the room was minimal. Walking over to the window, he tried to look between the cracks of the boards, but could see nothing. He looked at his watch; it was 5:23 p.m.

He walked over to the door and tried the knob, knowing it probably was locked…and having his suspicions confirmed. He tried to turn on the light switch, but nothing happened. Sitting back on the sleeping bag, he leaned his back against the wall. The building was silent; except for the distant pitter-patter of mice running in the ceiling hollows. Looking around, he couldn't see a bathroom, but a bucket sat nearby inside a small closet.

It was effectively a prison cell, and it was going to be a _dark _prison cell. The priest decided to use the facilities provided, and then settled down for the night, knowing that he was probably spending his evening in better conditions than McCormick was. He prayed that someone would find Mark soon, and that the young man was still alive.

000000

When McCormick regained consciousness, he was lying among scrub brush vegetation growing on the hillside. It was dusk, so he knew that he had been unconscious for several hours. He tried not to move too much and took a mental inventory of his aches. _Let's see, got a couple of lumps on my head – one from the gun and another one, probably from a rock. Left knee hurts…a lot, and feels swollen; probably twisted it on the way down the hill. Not going to walk with it for a bit. Ribs, definitely bruised a couple._ He carefully lifted his right arm, twisting it so he could see his watch; it was 6:12 p.m. _Hardcastle's gonna be __pissed__._

He tried to sit up, groaning the instant his head came off the ground. _Okay, so it doesn't look like I'm going anywhere for a bit. Gonna have to wait until Hardcase finds me. He probably put out an APB on me as soon as I didn't show for dinner. Predictable._

Mark watched the color of the clouds change as the sunset cast a dusty rose hue into the western sky, and listened to the sounds of the crickets chirping in the brush. He heard a car go by on the road above him. He turned his head slowly, trying to see up the hill. _Doesn't look that far; maybe fifty feet. I can probably crawl up the hill. Gotta get to the top, otherwise no one will see me down here._ He rolled partway over and decided that wasn't such a good idea. The movement caused his stomach to lurch and the remains of lunch were soon on the ground next to him.

"Okay, McCormick, you're _not_ crawling. Just gonna lay still and wait for the cavalry," he spoke aloud, trying to remain calm. "The judge will find me…and then we'll rescue Father Atias. Oh God, don't let anything happen to _him_ too."

McCormick lay quietly in the brush. It was softer than he had expected but not warm. As the sun went down and it got darker, he knew the t-shirt was not going to be warm enough to protect him. _At least, it's not supposed to get cold tonight. Maybe 65 degrees…and it's not supposed to rain until tomorrow afternoon. .I got time for someone to find me. _Wrapping his arms around his body, he tried to stay as warm as possible.

He watched the moon rising, thankful for at least a little bit of light. _At least there's a full moon tonight. Won't be totally dark. Should make a rescue easier…provided the car is still up there and someone looks down the hill. The stars are coming out…wonder if I'll see any shooting stars tonight? _He drifted off into a restless sleep, thinking about the full moon, the stars, and rescues while listening to the crickets.

00000

Hardcastle spent most of the night in the den, waiting by the phone. Around midnight, he turned off the lights and made his way to his bedroom. He was going to start looking in the morning-- he wasn't sure _where_, but he was going do his damnedest to hunt down McCormick and the young priest; provided they hadn't been already found by that point. He deeply wished that that would happen…that they'd find their way home sometime in the long night that lay ahead. It was hard to go to sleep knowing that the kid was missing.

**Chapter 13**

Around 4:30 in the morning, the clear sky clouded over, hiding the full moon behind thick storm clouds. A cool breeze blew down the hillside. By 5:15, the light drizzle began, waking the young man from his troubled sleep. "Damn Weather man! You're always wrong when I need you to be right!" yelled McCormick from his hillside bed. The cool spring rain soaked his t-shirt and jeans. A chilly breeze ran its icy fingertips over the young man. He started to shiver and his cough returned. He wrapped his arms around himself, tighter.

"Come _on_, Hardcastle…where the hell _are _you?" asked McCormick through chattering teeth. He looked at his watch again. "Another hour to sunrise. God, if you're listening, can you send someone down here for me? If not, can you at _least_ stop the rain?" pleaded the young man to the quiet pre-dawn sky.

Rolling on his side, Mark attempted to crawl up the hill, making it about six feet before admitting defeat. "Can't do it…too steep…hurts too much." He wheezed and coughed a few more times. His ribs ached from the beating as well as the tumble down the hill.

He continued to rest in the scrub brush, with the rain gently coming down, soaking the ground and him. If he had been sleeping in the gatehouse, he would have thought it was a nice spring rain; good for the gardens and the lawn. But lying on a hillside in a wet t-shirt; he knew it was trouble. Opening his mouth, he was able to catch some drops in it and eased his thirst a bit. However, the shaking from the chills was getting worse, and his hands were starting to tingle with the cold.

"Can't go sleep…gotta keep awake," McCormick mumbled. He began to sing to himself. "I danced in the morning when the world was begun. I danced in the Moon and the Stars and the Sun." He coughed a few times but continued, "Dance then, wherever you may be. I am the Lord of the Dance, said He! And I'll lead you all, wherever you may be. .And I'll lead you all in the Dance, said He!"

The sound of an approaching car made him stop. He listened to it slow down and then continue on. "NO! Come _back_…" He struggled to pull himself up the hill, but his movements were slow and clumsy and he soon quit.

"Try different song…one from racing days…down south…old Jimmy had one…sang it working on engines…" Mark hummed a bit before starting to sing, "There's a dark & a troubled side of life. There's a bright, there's a sunny side, too. Tho' we meet with the darkness and strife. The sunny side we also may view. Keep on the sunny side, always on the sunny side, Keep on the sunny side of life. It will help us ev'ry day, it will brighten all the way, If we'll keep on the sunny side of life."

He stopped singing and lay still, listening. The rain had stopped, but there still was no warm sun to dry him off; there was no sunny side.

Time passed and Mark woke from a dazed slumber, just in time to hear another car approaching. "Please… _stop_!" he called out weakly. Amazingly, the car did so. After a few minutes, he heard a door slamming closed. The outline of a person appeared at the top of the hill. McCormick struggled to raise his head, calling out again, "Help… _please_…"

The man, a police officer, ran back to his car and radioed headquarters. Grabbing a blanket from his backseat, he moved down slowly down the hillside to the injured man, calling out, "Mark McCormick…can you _hear_ me?"

Mark thought he recognized the voice but wasn't sure. He knew it wasn't the judge coming to his rescue. "Coldddd." The chattering teeth made it difficult to talk and his thoughts were muddled. "Wanna go hoo…mmme."

"Don't worry. Help is coming and we'll get you home," reassured the stranger as he approached McCormick. The stranger knelt down alongside the young man, who opened his eyes and stared at him. "Weren't expecting me, were you?" asked the police detective in a quiet, yet delighted voice. "Don't worry, I'm here to help."

The officer unfolded the gray wool blanket and carefully spread it over McCormick's cold body. "The ambulance is on the way. Lieutenant Harper is going to call Judge Hardcastle."

With those quiet words, McCormick closed his eyes, and started to mumble, "Smile on through the rain, Laugh through all the pain, Flow on with the changes Till the sun shines out again. Keep on smilin', smilin', laughin', laughin'…" before he gave into the darkness that had been calling.

00000

Fifteen minutes after Frank got off the phone with his officer, the phone rang at Gulls Way. Hardcastle was sitting in the kitchen with a cup of coffee. It was a little after 8 a.m. and he was just getting ready to call the station.

"Hardcastle," answered the judge as he set his coffee cup down.

"_Milt, we found Mark." _

"_Where_? _When_? Is he okay? What about Father Atias?" Hardcastle was tensed up, adrenaline making his words clipped and brisk.

"_Detective Harris found him up on Mulholland this morning, maybe fifteen minutes ago. Just called it in. Mark was alone. Ambulance is on the way now. Appears that he had fallen down a hillside or been thrown down it. Father Atias's car is still there, though. I don't know much more than that. Harris will call back, once the ambulance gets there."_

"I'll stay put and wait for the call." Hardcastle took a deep breath. "I _knew_ something had happened…"

"_Milt, I'm goin' let you go so I can take Harris' call as soon as it comes in. I'll find out where they're taking Mark and let you know. Okay?"_

"Yeah." Hardcastle hung up the phone and sank into the chair, his mood glum and worried. "Hillside, T-shirt, all night with rain this morning…not good." The jurist was not a patient man and waiting for the phone to ring again was torture. For forty-three endless minutes he paced between the kitchen and the den; not wanting to be more than a couple steps from a phone. When the call came, he jumped to answer it. He quickly took the information that Harper offered and hung up, heading for the garage.

In another twenty-six minutes, he was pulling the truck into the parking lot of St. Mary's Hospital. He walked into the emergency room where he was greeted by Detective Harris and Frank Harper.

"Milt, they have Mark in an examining room at the moment. They are trying to warm him up and assess his injuries. It's going to be a bit before the doctors can tell us anything," the police lieutenant informed the older man.

"Frank, what _happened_?" asked the judge, looking at the two police officers in front of him.

"Judge Hardcastle, I spotted Father Atias' car this morning along Mulholland and stopped because of the APB. I didn't see anyone in the car so I took a chance and looked down the hill. That's where I found Mr. McCormick, about 70 feet from the top." Detective Harris explained, looking up over towards the examining room. "He said he was cold and wanted to go home. He seemed kinda out of it and his skin was cold to the touch. He started mumbling a song or poem; something about smiling through the rain and laughing through the pain before he became unresponsive."

"It was a song." Hardcastle looked at the door, hoping that a doctor would come out soon.

Frank placed his hand on the judge's shoulder. "Coffee…come on, I'll buy."

"No thanks, Frank. I wanna be here," the jurist said. He looked back at Detective Harris. "Besides being cold, did he have any other injuries?"

"Not that I saw," responded Harris. "The paramedics mentioned something about bruised ribs and a swollen left knee…honestly, they were more concerned with getting the wet clothes off and wrapping him in dry blankets."

"Yeah, if the kid had been lying out there all night and then got soaked with the rain this morning, he would be a good candidate for hypothermia." Milt walked to the window and looked out over the parking lot. "I can't believe that someone would take Father Atias and leave McCormick."

"Maybe someone wants it to look like Father Atias _did _this to Mark," offered Harris.

"If that's the case, then why leave his car parked there?" asked Frank.

Harris never got the chance to answer the question because a doctor came out and asked for Judge Hardcastle. Both Milt and Frank stepped forward and were ushered to the back to where nurses had been working on McCormick. The young man lay still on the hospital bed, covered in warm blankets from toes to neck. He had an oxygen mask on his face and an IV in his left hand, the only part of his body that was visible. His face was pale; marked with a few old bruises and some new scratches.

A man in blue scrubs came over to the bed. "Judge Hardcastle, I'm Dr. Moore. I have been attending to Mr. McCormick. He is a very lucky young man."

"You mean he's going to be fine?" asked Hardcastle, looking at the pale face of his young friend.

"Yes, once we get him warmed back up. When he came in here, his body temperature was down to 94.2 degrees, which is a case of hypothermia bordering between mild and moderate severity. We are warming him slowly and he appears to be responding well. He's lucky it didn't get colder than 57 degrees last night. He probably has a concussion from a couple of blows to the head. We are not sure as to the severity since he hasn't been awake yet."

"Detective Harris said something about ribs and his knee…."

"Yes, he has a couple of bruised ribs. Nothing appears to be broken. We'll check again later, once he is warm, and if need be, take an x-ray. His left knee is swollen a bit. Again, once he is warm, we can x-ray to make sure nothing is broken. For now though, we have it immobilized."

"Why the oxygen?" asked Frank. "You said his ribs weren't busted."

"We don't think they are. His breathing was a bit raspy when the paramedics got to him. Between the hypothermia and the case of bronchitis he has, his oxygen levels were lower than we'd like to see. It is just a precaution and it will help warm him. We've also given him a dose of antibiotics; don't want it to develop into pneumonia."

"Foolish kid….said it was allergies. He's had a cold since Monday but refused to rest," explained Hardcastle.

"Well, it may have been a cold originally, but spending the night outside and the rain this morning didn't help." The doctor looked over at the nurses and back to the judge. "You can sit with him for a bit. He may not wake for a while, until he warms up some more. The nurses will continue to monitor him."

"Thank you, Dr. Moore." Hardcastle turned back to McCormick and carefully picked up the young man's hand. It was cold to the touch but not icy like he expected. "Decided to go camping without the sleeping bag, huh, kiddo? Not a good idea…should have at least taken your _jacket_ with you." He set the hand back down and tried to cover it with the blanket. "I'll be right here when you decide to wake up."

"I'll let you talk to him. I'm going to make arrangements to have him moved to a room. We're going to keep him for a day or two…depending on when he awakens and how he's feeling." Dr. Moore left quietly.

"Milt, he'll be fine…just needs a couple days rest." Frank looked over at McCormick, "I'm hoping he can tell us what happened when he wakes. It doesn't look good for one potential suspect to be missing and the last person who'd been with him is lying in a hospital bed."

"Frank, I don't believe that Father Atias did this. The killer is still out there and he probably is the one who has Fath…" Hardcastle stopped mid-word. He noticed McCormick's eyes fluttering and he was mumbling softly. "McCormick, come on, wake up," coaxed the judge gently.

Without opening his eyes, Mark mumbled, "Father Atias….gray Econo van … gunman. No…cold…hurts…" McCormick's voice trailed off and he lay still again.

"See, Frank, someone took Father Atias and threw McCormick down that hill. Now, I just hope the kid can give us so more information the next time he wakes." Hardcastle pulled a chair over and sank down into it.

"Okay. I'll go talk with Detective Harris some more and then contact Detective Parks. Keep me posted on how Mark's doing. If he says anything when he comes to again…"

"I know, Frank. I'll call you," interrupted Hardcastle. "Go on, get to work. Call Turner…this plot change might prove to be interesting and help us break the case."

Frank nodded in agreement and quietly walked back to the waiting room. In the waiting area, he found Detective Parks talking with Detective Harris. "Parks, what're _you_ doing here?" asked the lieutenant.

"Victim Seven was found an hour ago. I'm on my way there. I heard you were here and I decided to stop and see how Mark was doing, since it's on the way to the construction site," answered Parks.

"Who's the victim?" asked Harris.

"Joey Pirelli…one of the local boys who was often hired by Cadillac's family for quick jobs. At least that's the name on the registration that was found in the van. A positive ID won't be made until the boulder is removed from his back."

Frank looked at Parks. "What kind of van was he driving?"

"Older Ford Econoline, gray. Why?"

"Check it for Father Atias' prints. Mark mumbled something about a gunman and a gray Econoline van."

"Will do. By the way, I called Turner. He'll be stopping by to talk with Mark after he is done at the construction site. How's he doing?"

"Okay. Mild case of hypothermia. Bruises, scratches, concussion…all perfectly normal for someone who can find more trouble to get into than most two-year olds. The doctor doesn't expect him to wake for a while…at least until he warms up some more," said Harper.

"Yeah, I kinda got the feeling that 'trouble' should have been his nickname instead of Skid."

"You ever see the kid _race_?" Harper saw both men shake their heads, no. "If you had, you'd understand the nickname. Good kid…just attracts trouble." Harper looked at his watch. "Parks, you'd better get going… and Harris, I wanna know what you found yesterday with those robberies, since I never got a chance to talk with you in the afternoon."

Parks took the hint and left, stating he'd call in with more details later. Harris sat down in a chair, Harper joining him, and they discussed the investigation for ten minutes. As Harris left, Frank stood up and noticed Milt coming out to the waiting area.

"Milt, how's he doing?"

"Still out of it. The nurse wanted to check his temperature again and asked me to step out for a moment." He saw confusion on Frank's face, changing suddenly as understanding dawned. "Yeah, I don't need to witness _that _procedure. Besides they plan on moving him shortly to room 213. The nurse suggested a cup of coffee would do me some good…I guess I agree with her. You still buying?"

"Yeah, I'm still buying. Let's go."

Frank led the way and Hardcastle followed. They found a quiet table in the cafeteria and sat discussing the latest developments with Victim Seven. Both men came to the conclusion that Pirelli was the same gunman that McCormick had mumbled about.

"Follow the money, Frank. We find who hired Pirelli and we find the killer," Hardcastle said as he looked at his watch. "I'm going to head back. I want to be there when they move McCormick."

"All right. I'm going to make a few calls and then I'm come find you. Hopefully Mark will be awake enough to describe the attacker…just to confirm our theory."

Both men stood and headed back to the emergency room.

Authors Notes:

Spoiler Warning! If you haven't read _Hellbound_ by L.M. Lewis, you may want to read it first or be prepared to have the killer revealed in this last section.

**BETA NOTES!!** I've added 's' to all following "Atia"'s to make the spelling match the above story area! The name is NOT marked in red, so all the rest of this section has to be re-posted as I have corrected it here.

**Chapter 14**

Father Atias woke to find the room brighter. He looked at his watch…7:34am. He got up from the sleeping bag and stretched, as much as was possible with the handcuffs around his wrists. Looking around the room, he noticed a small brown bag and a bottle of water sitting on the floor next to the entrance, and for the first time saw that a cat entryway was located in the door's bottom edge. Walking over to it, he tried to open it, but discovered that it was locked from the other side. He then reached for the bag; finding only one plain bagel and an apple inside.

"It's not much, but then again, I didn't really expect anything," he said to himself. He placed the meager meal on the sleeping bag. After taking a few minutes to relieve himself and wash his hands with a bit of the water, he knelt for prayer in the little patch of light that filtered in from the window.

Bowing his head he began, "In the name of our Lord Jesus Christ I will begin this day. I thank you, Lord, for having preserved me during the night. I will do my best to make all I do today pleasing to You and in accordance with Your will. My dear mother Mary, watch over me this day. My Guardian Angel, take care of me. St. Joseph and all you saints of God, pray for me..."

Father Atias continued in silent prayer for a couple of minutes and then spoke aloud "O my God, relying on your infinite goodness and promises, I hope to obtain pardon of my sins, the help of your grace, and life everlasting, through the merits of Jesus Christ, my Lord and Redeemer. Amen."

He made the sign of the cross and again bowed his head. "My Jesus, by the sorrows Thou didst suffer in Thine agony in the Garden, in Thy scourging and crowning with thorns, on the way to Calvary, in Thy crucifixion and death, have mercy on the souls in purgatory, and especially on those that are most forsaken; do Thou deliver them from the terrible torments they endure; call them and admit them to Thy most sweet embrace in paradise. Amen."

Finishing with his prayers, he sat back on the sleeping bag to eat the apple and part of the bagel, deciding to keep some of it for lunch or dinner. He drank of the water sparingly, unsure as to when more would come.

"Looks like today will be a day of prayer and contemplation." He leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes. "I hope someone has found Mark by now." It was going to be a slow day of worrying about his missing friend.

000000

Thursday morning passed slowly for Judge Hardcastle. He spent most of it in a hospital room, sitting next to McCormick's bed and watching the young man. Mark's hands gradually grew warmer to the touch and his facial muscles tensed at times, almost as if in pain. The doctors had assured Hardcastle that McCormick was doing well and was probably getting some of the feeling back in his extremities as he warmed; the aching cramps were making his features contort with their twinges and causing occasional mumbled reactions of discomfort in his deep sleep.

Hardcastle had understood the doctor's explanation that Mark would wake when his body was ready and knew the recovery from the environmental exposure and injuries would take time…but it was still hard having to sit by the motionless pale form and not see any hopeful signs. The hardest part was having to hear the bad cough that McCormick had developed; it was as painful to the judge as a bystander to listen to it as it was for the young man to suffer.

Craig Turner stopped by late morning. He showed Hardcastle the note that was found in Pirelli's hand. As expected it was the final piece of the prayer and it read, 'O Model of humility, divest me of all _pride_ and _arrogance_. Let me acknowledge my weakness and sinfulness, so that I may bear mockery and contempt for your sake and esteem myself as lowly in your sight.' Neither man was entirely sure why the low level hit man was chosen for pride, but both surmised it had to do with the arrogance of youth.

The men discussed the kidnapping and the possibility of the use of the "ante-purgatory" categories to add to the number of future planned deaths. Both agreed that the whole plan was to frame Father Atias, but didn't understand the underlying motive. However, they disagreed on how the final four murders would be handled by the assassin. Hardcastle believed that the killer would continue to spread the victims out, but Turner thought it would be a grand finale with the four victims being part of one attack. Either way, they were unsure as to who two of the final four victims would be. The judge and Father Atias were considered candidates for two of the slots-- "Negligent Rulers" and "Excommunicates", but the other potential victims were not clearly indicated. At this point, both men were anxious to see where the money trail led.

At lunchtime, Lt. Harper stepped into McCormick's room. Hardcastle was sitting in an uncomfortable plastic chair next to the younger man's bed, reading a magazine. He set it down when he heard Frank walk in. "How's he doing?" the cop asked.

"Warmer…last temp indicated he was back around 98 degrees. He's been mumbling. Nothing really, just keeps saying Father Atias, help, and cane…not sure what 'cane's' supposed to refer to." The judge stood up and stretched. "I'd forgotten how awful these chairs are…"

"Well, since McCormick moved in, both of you have spent too much time sitting in them," observed the police lieutenant. Frank caught a warning glance from the jurist. "I got some information for you," Harper continued, " Father Atias' fingerprints _were_ in the van, but in the back. He was definitely a passenger, probably an _unwilling_ one. However, we still don't have a clue as to where he is at the moment."

"Follow the money, Frank."

"We're working on it, Milt. Unfortunately, it appears that Joey was paid in cash and kept it, because there are no large deposit into his account."

"_Damn_!"

"So how much does a killer like him hire out for?"

"Oh, he's small time…so maybe five or ten thousand at the most." The judge moved closer to the bed and laid his palm across McCormick's forehead. "He feels warmer…hopefully he'll wake up soon." He removed the hand when he heard the door open.

A nurse came into the room and told Harper that there was a call for him at the nurses' station. Frank excused himself. The woman came over and checked Mark's pulse and then pulled back the blanket back slightly in order to listen to his breathing. She marked a few things on the chart and then looked at Hardcastle, who quickly excused himself, just as he had every time they checked McCormick's temperature over the past three hours.

Stepping into the hallway, the jurist saw Harper coming towards him. "Kicked you out again, huh?" Frank grinned.

"Yeah. I wish the kid would wake soon. I can't believe he's sleeping through all of _that_."

"Have you eaten anything?" asked the lieutenant.

"Not yet. I kinda want to stay here, in case he does wake up," explained the older man.

"How about I go down to the cafeteria, grab a couple of sandwiches, and then we camp out in his room?" offered Harper.

"Sure. Anything is fine with me," Milt responded.

Frank nodded and went off in search of the sandwiches. Hardcastle sat on a chair in the hallway, waiting for the nurse to open the door. A few minutes later, she stuck her head out into the corridor and beckoned to him to reenter.

"How's he doing?" he asked her, noticing that the oxygen mask had been removed.

"His temperature is back to normal," she commented. " I'm going to remove one blanket for now, but if he feels cool, go ahead and put it back on." She pulled one of the three blankets back and folded it, leaving it near the foot of the bed. Mark was still covered with a light blanket pulled up to his neck and a slightly heavier one that reached part way up the chest. His arms and hands rested atop it.

"The doctor set up an appointment with radiology for 12:30, assuming his temperature would be normal, which it is. I'll be back in a little while to take him down."

"Any sign of him waking?"

"A little. He seemed more restless with this last temperature check. I'm sure it won't be much longer. He's warm now, and everything looks good. I _did_ change the oxygen facemask to a nasal cannula. That should be a bit more comfortable for him. I'll be back in a bit," said the nurse as she headed towards the door.

"Thank you." Hardcastle moved over to the familiar position near the side of the bed and picked up McCormick's right hand. It was warm. He gave it a gentle squeeze, letting the young man know he had returned. "Hey kid, time to wake up. Frank's bringing lunch." He watched the face but there was no response. He laid the hand back down on the bed and was going to cover it with the top blanket but he noticed the fingers moving, curling under like they were searching for something. He picked McCormick's hand back up and was rewarded with a gentle squeeze in return.

"_Judge_…" whispered the young man. His eyes were starting to flutter and his grip on the jurist's hand was a bit stronger.

"Mark, come on… open your eyes," called Hardcastle softly.

"Hurts…too _bright_…" mumbled the young man.

Frank entered the room just then, and hearing Mark's complaint, quickly set down the sandwiches and went to the window to pull the curtains closed.

"Is that better?" asked the judge, flashing Frank a grateful smile.

"Better…still hurts…" mumbled McCormick who succeeded in opening his eyes briefly before falling into a more peaceful sleep.

"I'll get the nurse and let her know he was awake…kind of," offered Frank as he stepped out of the room.

A few minutes later, Harper returned with Dr. Moore. The physician walked over to the bed and looked at his sleeping patient. He raised the head of the bed a bit. "I want to see him awake for just a few minutes. Then he can sleep through the x-rays on the knee and ribs," he explained to the judge. "Mark, come on son, time to wake up," he called to the young man as he gently shook his shoulder. McCormick mumbled but remained asleep. "Mark, wake _up_," insisted the doctor in a louder voice.

When no response came, Hardcastle stood alongside the bed and placed his hand on Mark's shoulder. He smiled at the doctor and then in his best commanding judicial voice said loudly, "Mc_CORMICK_, get your lazy backside out of that bed!" In response the startled young man's eyes flew open but were unfocused. Hardcastle continued to maintain the comforting hand on McCormick's shoulder and in a strong but gentler voice, continued, "Welcome back to the land of the living. Can you stay awake, just for a few minutes?"

"Ju-udge…" the young man focused on the face he needed to see. He reached for Hardcastle's hand and grabbed it. "Gunman…old gray van…it was rusty. He took Father Atias..."

The judge patted McCormick's hand, reassuring the younger man. "I know…you told us earlier. The van and the gunman have been found. Now, can you answer some questions for the doctor?"

"Mark, I'm Dr. Moore. It appears you remember what happened and that's good. Now, can you focus on my pen?" asked the physician, holding a ballpoint in front of Mark's face. "Good, now keep your head still and follow it with your eyes." McCormick did as requested. "Very good," the older man praised. "Now, I'm betting your head hurts. Are you _dizzy_ at all?"

"A little. My knee and ribs hurt…" was the tired response.

"I know. We're going to take you down for some x-rays in a little bit. I don't believe anything is broken but we're just going to make sure. Now, based on the fact the curtains are drawn, I'm going to assume you can't handle bright lights at the moment. That's normal and it will go away in time." The doctor watched as McCormick tried to shield his eyes with his right arm. "We'll get you something for the headache, and it should help with the light sensitivity as well."

The doctor picked up the chart and made a few notes in it. "I'll have the nurse bring you something and then we'll get you down to x-ray. After that, you can sleep a bit."

" 'kay, " responded McCormick as he closed his eyes. "_Judge_…" he mumbled, searching for the strong hand that he knew was close by. It was quickly provided by the owner and gratefully clasped.

"It's okay, Mark. You can go back to sleep. I'll be here when you wake up," Hardcastle promised, sensing the younger man's concerns.

The doctor watched his patient relax and assured the jurist that sleep really was the best thing for McCormick. He left quietly and in a few minutes the nurse returned with a syringe. The drug was quickly administered and noted on the chart. "This may make him drowsy, but it'll make the headache and dizziness go away. I'll be back in five minutes to take him downstairs," she said and then quickly left the room.

"Drowsy…that's okay…where'm I _goin'_?" asked McCormick sleepily. His eyes were closed, his voice was fading, and his breathing was slow and raspy.

"X-ray…maybe we should have then take one of your _head_ too," answered the judge, with a small smile. "Go ahead and sleep, kiddo." He remained with McCormick gripping his hand for a few minutes before he felt the younger man's grasp relax, and eventually release.

Harper motioned for the judge to sit down and handed him a sandwich. Both men were still eating their lunch when the nurse and an orderly returned. They quickly moved the sleeping McCormick onto the gurney and took him to radiology.

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It was late afternoon when McCormick woke again. He looked over and smiled at the sight of the judge sleeping in the hard plastic chair. It was nice to have someone watching over him. He quietly watched his best friend sleep until an awkward swallow stimulated the irritation in the back of his throat and set off a fit of coughing.

The moment the judge heard the coughing, he woke up and looked over at McCormick. As soon as the spasm subsided, he watched the younger man sink back into the pillow, exhausted.

"Still claiming it's allergies?" greeted the jurist gruffly. "Do you want this raised?" he added, indicating the bed controls.

Mark nodded his head and the judge elevated the head of the bed so Mark could look at him. "Might be a cold…" Mark yawned. "Where's _Frank_?"

"Try a bad case of bronchitis… bordering on pneumonia. Frank went back to the office. He mumbled something about Claudia and cake…anyways, I think they'll be stopping by this evening."

"Bet they're bringing Apple Spice…she promised to make my favorite cake for me last weekend while I was sitting in the holding cell." Another yawn followed by a deep cough. "So, did they take the x-rays?"

"Yeah, Sleeping Beauty. You got lucky; mainly bruised ribs with one cracked. You're gonna hurt, but there's no permanent damage. As to your knee, nothing showed on the x-ray so Dr. Moore thinks you just twisted it. They had some ice on it earlier, while you were sleeping; trying to bring the swelling down. The nurse left a pair of crutches for you since you're not going to be able to put weight on it." Hardcastle watched the young man yawn again and then heard the unmistakable rumble of McCormick's stomach. "When did you last eat?"

"Yesterday afternoon..." Mark coughed again. "But, I'm not really hungry…just tired." Mark looked directly at Hardcastle. "Judge_, where's_ Father Atias?"

The judge looked into McCormick's eyes and could see the deep concern for the young priest. He had never lied to the kid before and was not about to now. Unfortunately, he didn't know how to tell him that Father Atias had not been found yet and there were no clues as to where he could be. _There 's_ _no easy way, so tell it straight…_

"Mark, we haven't found Father Atias yet."

"But you said earlier that they'd found the gunman and the van."

"Yes, the gunman was Joey Pirelli. He was also victim number seven." Hardcastle watched McCormick's face as the words sank in. "At this point, we don't have any reason to suspect that Father Atias is dead, so Frank and Detective Parks are still checking on a few things, Don't worry, they'll find him," assured the judge.

As he finished speaking, there was a quiet knock on the door and Dr. Moore came into the room. "Good afternoon, Mark," he smiled. "How are you feeling?"

"Tired, but better." The young man yawned as if to make his point about being tired.

"Good, let's take a quick look at you." The doctor came over and helped Mark sit up a bit more. He listened to his breathing with the stethoscope, frowning a bit when McCormick fell into another bout of coughing trying to take a deep breath. "Hmmm, doesn't sound too good, but we'll give it another day or two with the antibiotics."

"What do you mean, another day or two?"

"Mark, your body is fighting a chest infection, for which you're receiving antibiotics. You have a moderate concussion. On top of that, you came into the ER this morning with a body temperature of 94 degrees, meaning you had hypothermia. Judge Hardcastle will attest to the amount of time it took for you to warm back up. Anyone of these conditions would be enough to earn you a night's stay here…but the combination of all three warrants a bit more time. I want you to stay here for a couple days to continue with the IV antibiotics." The doctor looked at his frustrated patient and the quiet jurist. "I know hospitals are no fun, but I do want a nurse to continue monitoring you over the next 24 hours."

"Dr. Moore, can't I just go home and have _Hardcastle _wake me every two hours?" Mark tried to stifle another yawn and closed his eyes.

"Sorry, son. It's not just a question of doing that. We need to monitor your breathing and your body temperature. I don't think there'll be any problems, but I do want to be on the _safe _side." The doctor looked at the displeasure that was clearly on McCormick's face. "Try to get some sleep, it really is the best thing for you, beside eating properly. If you're hungry, we can have a nurse bring a tray in for you now?" offered the doctor.

"Yeah, like I'm really going to _sleep_ with nurses coming in every two hours to check on me… They're as bad as Hardcase and the basketball outside my window at 6:30 in the morning," grumped the young man with his eyes still closed. "…and I am not hungry."

The judge looked over to the doctor. "Don't' worry, he's normally this cranky when he wakes up. You get used to it."

"Well, when you're hungry, the nurse can bring you a tray. Don't worry, Mark… if everything else continues to look good, and provided you get some rest tonight and tomorrow, we'll send you home Saturday – with orders to rest at home for a few more days. Then again, based on the swelling in the knee, I don't think you're going to be up and doing much for a bit." The doctor patted McCormick's shoulder and left the room.

"McCormick, would you like something to drink?" asked the judge holding a glass.

Mark sighed and opened his eyes slowly. "Yeah, a bit of water would be good." He took the offered glass and drank slowly from the straw. His stomach rumbled again. "Maybe I _should_ try to eat something."

"I'll see if I can get something. Be back in a minute." Hardcastle placed the glass back on the small table and went in search of a nurse.

When he returned five minutes later, McCormick was asleep. He smiled and took a seat in the chair next to the bed, waiting for the nurse to come with the tray before waking the kid again.

0000000

The day did in fact pass very slowly for Father Atias. He slept on and off. When he was awake, he paced the room or sat in silent prayer on the sleeping bag. A little after six o'clock that evening, he heard a footsteps coming to the door and called out, "Is someone there? Please, if you can hear me, let me out."

There was no answer but after a few minutes, he heard a scratching noise at the cat door, like someone unlocking it. Quickly the door was pushed open and another bottle of water and brown paper bag appeared. And just as quickly, the cat door was closed and locked. The footsteps could be heard walking away.

"Please, come back. Tell me why you're _doing _this!" shouted Father Atias.

Normally he was a very calm man, but after spending the day worrying about Mark McCormick as well as trying to figure out who would have kidnapped him, his nerves were frayed and his patience was gone. He snatched up the freshly delivered rations and walked back to the sleeping bag. Inside the bag was another apple and a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. The priest laughed out loud. "I haven't had a peanut butter and jelly sandwich since seminary…I ate so many of them as a student that by the time I was ordained I _hated_ them."

Like the previous night, the room quickly grew dark as the sun set. He didn't want to waste the precious light that remained, so Father Atias quickly ate the apple and the sandwich. Afterwards, he ended his evening with a simple prayer of reflection and another prayer for protection, "O Blessed Virgin Mary, Mother of mercy, pray for me that I may be preserved this night all evil, whether of body or soul. Dear St. Joseph, all the saints and angels, and especially you, my guardian angel and my chosen patron, watch over me. I commend myself to your protection now and always. Amen."

Lying back on the sleeping bag, he tried to relax and let sleep wash over him, praying that the morning would bring answers.

**Chapter 15**

Thursday evening, the Harpers stopped by the hospital for a short visit with Mark and the judge. Both of them agreed to not talk about the murders and to keep the mood light. Frank had told Claudia that Father Atias was still missing and, based on an earlier conversation with Hardcastle, it would be best if nobody mentioned it to Mark. The judge had sensed that McCormick felt guilty over not being able to stop the kidnapping.

Frank took Hardcastle down to the cafeteria for something to eat, while Mark ate his dinner in the room with Claudia. The judge had made her promise not to give McCormick any of the Apple Spice cake until he finished _everything_ on his dinner tray. Claudia agreed, and McCormick groaned when the dinner tray was brought in: vegetable soup, something that was supposed to be roast beef, mashed potatoes, and over-cooked carrots. Picking up the fork with a sigh, Mark glanced over at Claudia's solemn expression; a look that only a mother or very experienced aunt could give which brooked no refusal of orders by the recipient, and slowly shoveled up a bite of potatoes.

When the judge and Frank returned, Mark's tray was clean and he was anxious to eat his cake. "_Finally_! Claudia refused to give me a piece until both of you returned."

"Mark, we weren't gone _that_ long," said Frank, grinning. "I'm sure you could have waited a little longer."

"Maybe…" grumbled Mark. He watched as the cake was cut and eagerly grabbed the plate that was passed to him. Taking a bite, he sighed blissfully, "This is worth spending a weekend in a holding cell for."

"With the way you moaned and groaned about it, I think Claudia should have cooked _me_ a Pecan Pie, just for putting up with you." Hardcastle took a bit of his cake and smiled.

"Nah – she needs to make cookies for Frank," smirked Mark, while casting a knowing look at Harper who almost choked on his piece of cake.

"Don't worry, Frank. I figured Mark gave you a few cookies. But let me guess, he took pity on you when you mentioned the office couldn't have any until he was free…" Claudia looked at her husband and smiled.

"Something like that…" replied Frank, casting a look at McCormick that caused him to laugh.

The Harpers stayed until Mark started yawning and the evening nurse came in to check his breathing and place another icepack on the knee. They quickly excused themselves and Frank said he would return in the morning to get a statement from McCormick.

Hardcastle saw them to the elevator and then returned to the room, catching McCormick hobbling back from the bathroom to the bed with the crutches. "I thought you were only supposed to do that with someone here?"

"I did. The nurse watched me go _into_ the bathroom, with the understanding that you would return in time to watch me _leave _the bathroom…which you did." McCormick gave a half-smile to the judge as he tried to stifle another yawn.

"I don't think that's what they meant, and you know it. Always pushing the rules a bit, aren't you?" asked Hardcastle. He helped the young man back into bed and replaced the icepack on his knee, then sat in the chair nearby.

"Yeah, but that's what makes life interesting…" Mark yawned and was quiet for a moment. He turned his head to look at the judge. "Do you think Father Atias is dead?"

"No." It was the type of single word answer that was meant to keep confidence levels high; a simple and honest answer. It was the best that Hardcastle could give at the moment. "Turner and I talked about that this morning_. I_ think the killer's going to string the last four murders out, whereas Turner believes it will be one large murder scene. Either way, you said excommunicates were on the beach…the first ones in Dante's book, which mean that Father Atias will be _last_." Hardcastle took a drink of water before continuing. "Either way, _I'm_ probably the next victim if your theory is correct." He watched McCormick's face pale. "Don't worry, Frank didn't leave me here unprotected. Officer Riggs is sitting outside. He's a plain- clothes officer who will go home with me later."

"Okay…" Mark sighed deeply and then fell into another coughing fit. "Damn, I _hate _this!"

"Hate what?" asked the jurist innocently but knowing what McCormick was referring to.

"I hate not being the one watching your back. That's Tonto's job…_my_ job, not Officer Riggs's. I hate the fact I couldn't stop Pirelli, and now we don't know where Father Atias is…and…and I hate being _here_!" McCormick sank back against the pillows, his remaining energy spent on the emotional outburst.

"Even Tonto gets sick once in a while and needs time off. You're still watching my back…think about the information and theories you've given us already. Why do we suspect there'll be four more murders? Why did we go and pull the bank information? Why don't we consider Father Atias to be a suspect? And how did we know to connect Pirelli to Father Atias' disappearance?" asked the judge. "Because _you_ gave us information that was useful…and based on its premise we know that I am a candidate for Victim Number Eight."

McCormick sat quietly for a moment, digesting the questions that Hardcase had thrown at him. Even though it seemed that his theories were helping unravel the design of the killer, it was just hard not to be up and chasing the bad guys. Tonto wanted to get on his horse and ride along his Kemosabe, not be left sitting back in camp while the Lone Ranger talked with sheriff and set the trap for the bad guys. Finally he asked, "Judge, what did you find on the bank records?"

"Let's not go through that tonight. We'll discuss it with Detective Parks and Frank in the morning. You're tired and really should try to get some sleep. Besides, there's a good movie on tonight that we can watch for a bit."

"Judge, I'm not really in the mood for the Duke tonight," whined McCormick.

"Good, 'cause it's _not_ the Duke. It's Sean Connery and Candice Bergen. You ever see 'The Wind and the Lion'?"

"No. What's it about?"

"Morocco in 1904, the Raisuli, and the Perdicaris family…it's based on an international incident." Hardcastle smiled at the young man and turned on the TV. "You'll like it." Both men settled in as the drums and horns of the opening credits played.

00000000

The judge shut the TV off once the movie ended. He had noticed that McCormick had fallen asleep sometime during the movie and went over to the young man. He picked up the remains of the ice pack and took it into the bathroom, then returned and carefully covered Mark with the blanket. As he was lowering the head of the bed, he heard McCormick mutter, "It's been a bad year, and the next one will probably be _worse_…"

"Not if _I _can help it, kiddo, not if I can help it. Get some sleep and I'll see you in the morning." The judge made sure that a glass of water was near, in case McCormick woke in the middle of the night. He picked up his jacket, turned off the light over the bed, and headed to the door. "Good-night, McCormick."

"G'night…"

**Chapter 16**

After breakfast on Friday morning, Frank Harper and Detective Parks came into Mark's room.

"Frank! Have you found Father Atias yet?"

"I'm sorry, Mark, not yet."

"McCormick, don't worry. We will find him and everything will be fine, _trust_ me," said Hardcastle.

"Mark, can you tell us a bit about what happened Wednesday afternoon?" asked Detective Parks.

McCormick explained briefly what happened when Father Atias was kidnapped. There really wasn't much to tell since it happened so quickly but everyone still wanted to know the details. "The gunman said someone wanted to talk with Father Atias…probably the killer," answered McCormick quietly. "What did you guys find out about the bank records?"

"Geoffrey Townsend had applied for a loan and it was denied. We brought him in for questioning but it looks like a dead end," explained Parks

"Did you guys know that Detective Harris is Geoffrey's cousin?" asked McCormick as he adjusted the ice pack on his knee.

"Yeah, we found that out Wednesday night while you were out camping under the stars, kiddo," responded Hardcastle.

"That was _not_ camping, Hardcase. When we go camping, you make me pack a ton of stuff. There's a tent and a fire. I get to eat hotdogs and marshmallows and sleep in a warm bag, not under muddy scrub brush, and…!" snapped McCormick before a round of coughing forced him to lie back against the pillows.

"Okay, you two…break it _up_," said Frank looking at McCormick with concern. "Mark, we know that Townsend applied for a loan, with the hope of opening a specialty book store. Detective Harris was going to be his silent partner in the business." Frank cleared his throat. "Townsend has strong alibis for the first five murders; better than most of your alibis, Mark."

"Who have you tried looking at, besides Townsend?" asked Mark.

"We are assuming that Joey Pirelli, Victim Seven, was hired by someone …"

Parks interrupted the lieutenant. "We've checked Joey Pirelli's employment history…he used to work for Cadillac before going free-agent after Cadillac was sent to prison."

Frank looked at Hardcastle. "And up until about two months ago, he had been occasionally working for Michael Campanella. Around the beginning of March, it looks like he was hired by Stuart Stefanzo."

"The same guy with the 'Stefanzo Family New York Style Pizza'?" asked a flabbergasted McCormick. "They make great pizzas…no _wonder_ they taste so authentic. He wasn't kidding about the 'old family recipe', huh?"

"Yeah, kid. He's mob too. I got a file on him and Campanella." Hardcastle rubbed his finger under his nose in thought. "Stefanzo came from New York in the late 50's. He's an old rival of Cadillac's…I didn't think he was doing much anymore with the family business though." Hardcastle turned to the police detective. "Parks, could you check and see if there has been any large payments from Stefanzo's accounts…follow-up on anything that is more than $1000."

"Sure, Judge." Parks quickly jotted down notes in his file folder.

McCormick leaned forward in bed, gently holding his ribs, while he stretched his back. "Frank, who _else _knew that Nick Farrell was at the hospital? Hardcastle told me that Father Atias was visiting another patient and that Geoffrey Townsend worked there. Seems awfully convenient for our killer to have two potential suspects there already…"

"Yes, Mark, it is awfully convenient. The only people that knew about Farrell's visit, besides his father, were those involved with the investigation and prosecution of his case or those that work there. What are you thinking?"

"Could it be someone connected to the investigation or prosecution?" Mark looked at Hardcastle. "Judge, I know you hate to think it could be one of the good guys, but it _might_ be…I mean, last year the Inferno killer turned out to be a psychopath who was impersonating a psychologist on contract with the police department."

"Possibly… I can look at the people involved in the defense and prosecution. I doubt anything will show, but it can't hurt to check it out," offered Parks. "Mark, you think like a detective. Have you ever thought about becoming one?"

"I think like an ex-con…and I don't think I could be a detective; the hours are too long and you have to deal with people like Hardcase. I'll stick with cleaning pools and mowing the lawn."

"Well, you _still _gotta deal with me!" growled Hardcastle.

Parks looked at Frank and shook his head, wondering how the two of them ever got along as well as they did.

Mark pulled the ice pack off his knee and set it on the bedside table as a tall and stern-looking nurse came in for another vital signs check. McCormick was tired of the routine but he remained pleasant with the nurse, especially since he had an audience.

Mark sighed deeply after the nurse made her notes on his chart and left, leaving three sets of eyes watching him. "_What_?" Mark asked as he looked around the room. "I'm tired of the exams and I'm tired of the ice pack."

"Okay, McCormick, you're starting to get a little cranky…maybe it's nap time." The judge smiled at the exasperated look on the young man's face. "Besides, I think Frank and Detective Parks have a bit of digging to do…"

Frank and Parks took the hint and stood up. "Mark, Milt's right. You look worn out. You should get some rest and I'll check back later," Harper commented.

"'Get some rest'…yeah _right_, Frank! The nurses just keep coming in to poke and prod. And this damn tube is annoying…" McCormick pulled on the nasal cannula. "Have you ever tried to sleep with one of these things? Damn thing practically _strangles _a person when they try to roll over…"

"Maybe if you'd lie still, it wouldn't be so bad," offered the judge. He reached over to the bedside table and opened a brown prescription pill bottle, handing Mark two tablets and a glass of water. "Here's something for the headache. _I_ may even take a few myself." Mark glared at Hardcastle but took the pills and the water.

Frank laughed. "Get some sleep and I'll see you later." He headed to the door, opening it, but suddenly turned around to say, "Oh, I almost forgot…Mattie called me this morning, She got back from France Wednesday night. She said she'd stop by on Sunday to see the two of you. She figured it would take a couple of days to get used to the time change. I guess she had a great vacation…what _I_ wouldn't give to take three weeks off and go to Europe!" Harper waved at his friends and left.

The judge looked at McCormick, noting the real fatigue and stress of the young man as he lowered the bed to a level position. "Take a nap. I'll check with Dr. Moore about getting rid of the damn tubing."

"Thanks, Judge." McCormick settled down in the bed and closed his eyes. He hated the painkillers but his head was still bothering him and his ribs were aching and a nap was sounding good. Within a few minutes he was asleep.

0000000

Friday was a repeat of Thursday for Father Atias. Another brown bag waited for him in the morning, followed by another delivery around 6 pm. Again there was no response when he pleaded to the footsteps to open the door. He continued to pace the small room, sitting in prayer when he felt exhausted by the exercise.

He began to gain a deeper understanding of the isolation that Mark and other prisoners had mentioned experiencing. He had talked with convicts and heard the emptiness in their voice when they mentioned solitary confinement, counting the number of bricks on the wall to keep their mind focused, or the endless hours spent pacing. He was beginning to understand the fear that he had seen in some prisoners' eyes when they talked about their time inside; their concern of the outside world forgetting they existed; the terror of forgetting who they really were when they spent months or years as a number rather than a human being. The isolation was frightening to the priest, but even more so was the wondering if he was going to go crazy. He asked God for continued patience and understanding.

000000

That evening, Frank stopped by the hospital on his way home. It was late but the judge and McCormick were watching 'Rio Bravo' and talking. Mark was sitting up in the bed with the icepack back on his knee. He looked better and the nasal cannula was gone. Walking into the room, the cop was greeted by Hardcastle, "Frank, what brings you here so late?"

"Just stopping by to let you know we finally got the approval to pull Stefanzo's bank records. We're going to get them tomorrow morning." Frank looked over to the judge. "And Officer Riggs will be stationed at the estate tomorrow when you take Mark home, but for some reason, probably budgets, the protection ends tomorrow night. The higher-ups at the station figure the killer's completed the Seven Deadly Sins pattern and therefore is finished with his attacks. I guess they don't believe in the 'ante-purgatory' levels being a risk."

"Frank, this guy's going to kill again! How can they not _see _it?" asked an angry McCormick.

"Mark, it's been quiet for almost two days. The seventh victim was found along with the final piece of the prayer. I understand why they think it's over," soothed Frank.

"Listen, McCormick, it's not like we can't protect ourselves at the estate," Hardcastle interjected. "You know we have the security system and…"

"Yeah, I know about the security system, and you've got a small arsenal in the place, but _I _can't do much with this leg yet… how am I supposed to stop someone if they come after you and I'm not near the gun case? Should I throw a _crutch _at them?" Mark turned his head into the pillow and closed his eyes, frustrated.

"You'll think of something…you're pretty good at improvising…"

"What time are they discharging you in the morning?" asked Frank quickly, hoping to lighten the mood a bit.

"Before noon…not like it really matters much, since I can't go anywhere," Mark grumped. "I've got orders to rest, and no driving until the knee is able to bear weight…"

"Well, Claudia and I will stop by with a homemade dinner tomorrow night…it'll be a nice reprieve from hospital food and Milt's _cooking_." The last comment earned Frank a smile from the young man and a glare from the judge.

"Hey, _my_ cooking's not bad!" declared the jurist.

"No, it's awful…" McCormick received a swat across the right thigh with the magazine that Hardcastle was holding, causing him to jump a bit and open his eyes. "Frank, can I file assault charges? You're my witness."

"_McCORMICK_!"

"Just kiddin'…"

Frank shook his head and chuckled. "Okay, you two. I'd better get outta here before the nurse comes in and throws me out for starting World War III. I'll see you tomorrow evening, " said the lieutenant as he headed for the door. "Good Night!"

"Good night, Frank," the two men called to the closing door, then turned their attention back to Dean Martin punching Claude Akins while the Duke and Ricky Nelson shot it out with the Burdette gang; Walter Brennan cackling in the background.

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	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 17**

Saturday afternoon found McCormick relaxing at Gulls Way. Hardcastle had fixed a guest bedroom in the main house, declaring it would be easier to watch each other's backs if they were in the same house. However, McCormick knew the judge cared about him and just wanted to keep an eye on him, for which he was grateful.

After a late lunch, McCormick took another pain killer. The sensitivity to light had almost gone away but he still had a dull throbbing in the back of his head where the gun had hit him. It normally wasn't bad, just enough to be bothersome, but when combined with the aching knee, the sore ribs, and concern for the missing Father Atias, he wanted something for the pain. He lay back on the couch with his leg propped up on a pillow and his head on another. Hardcastle sat at his desk, reviewing a file.

"What's with the 'cane'? You mentioned it a couple of times back in the hospital." asked Hardcastle looking over to the very relaxed young man, whose eyes were closed.

A small laugh came from the couch. "Cain and Abel. Father Atias thought the killer might be Detective Harris."

"Did Father Atias say why he thought it could be Harris and not Townsend?"

"Judge, have you ever had a weird feeling about someone? I mean, sometimes a person sounds like they want one thing but their actions throw you by saying something else?" McCormick glanced at Hardcastle. "Well, Father Atias thought it could have been Harris because of his attitude towards him, initially. Then the guy asked for forgiveness. Just seems like something's not right…" Mark yawned.

"Maybe he was just upset like you suggested back in Frank's office," offered Hardcastle.

"No, there's something there…green eyes… no life left in them…" said McCormick drowsily as he closed his eyes again.

"Come on, McCormick, stay awake just a bit longer," ordered the judge gently. "Do you think Father Atias is onto something?"

"Maybe…that man understands people…sometime better than I understand myself..." mumbled McCormick as he drifted further into sleep.

"Okay, you win this one kiddo…" Hardcastle stood up and grabbed a blanket from the back of the leather wingback chair. He walked over to the couch and gently covered his sleeping friend with the blanket, then quietly exited the den and headed to the kitchen to call Frank.

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Saturday morning found Father Atias sitting on the sleeping bag waiting for the light to brighten the small room. He had already walked around the room a couple of times and noticed that there was not a bag of food waiting for him.

As the morning light trickled into the room through the cracks between the boards, the sound of footsteps echoed in the hallway outside the door. Once again, Father Atias called out, "Let me out! You have no right to hold me here."

Again, there was no answer from the person in the hallway. The cat flap was quickly unlocked and a bag pushed through. The bag was followed by a bottle of water and two books. The flap quickly closed and locked again. The sound of the person retreating was the only response that the priest received.

Father Atias looked with interest at the two texts. The first one was the _Holy Bible_, which made sense given the religious themes of the murders, but the second, Chaucer's _Canterbury Tales_, confused him as to its relevance. Setting the books aside on the sleeping bag, he sat back with the bag. Inside he found a ham sandwich, a small bag of chips, and another apple.

He slowly ate the sandwich and flipped though _The Canterbury Tales_. As he turned the pages, a piece of paper fell out. On it was references to several Bible verses, as well as instructions to read the _Parson's Tale_.

"Interesting. At least this will give me something to do today," he thought to himself.

He quickly set down _The_ _Canterbury Tales_ and, picking up the _Bible, _began to look up the verses that were referenced: Psalms 37:8, 37:16; 51:3-5, 7:12-16.

An hour later, Father Atias had read all of the verses and was contemplating the possible meanings. It seemed obvious that whoever was holding him in the abandoned apartment wanted him to understand a specific message, but he was confused as to what it was. He read the sections again and pondered.

_"Refrain from anger and turn from wrath; do not fret — it leads only to evil."_

_"Better the little that the righteous have than the wealth of many wicked."_

"_For I know my transgressions. _

_My sin is constantly before me. _

_Against you, and you only, have I sinned, _

_and done that which is evil in your sight; _

_that you may be proved right when you speak, _

_and justified when you judge. _

_Behold, I was brought forth in iniquity. _

_In sin my mother conceived me." _

"_If a man doesn't relent, he will sharpen his sword; _

_he has bent and strung his bow. _

_He has also prepared for himself the instruments of death. _

_He makes ready his flaming arrows. _

_Behold, he travails with iniquity. _

_Yes, he has conceived mischief, _

_and brought forth falsehood. _

_He has dug a hole, _

_and has fallen into the pit which he made. _

_The trouble he causes shall return to his own head. _

_His violence shall come down on the crown of his own head."_

The priest let out a long sigh, stood up, stretched, and walked the perimeter of the room before sitting back down and picking up _The_ _Canterbury Tales_. He flipped to the back of the book, knowing the very last chapter was the _Parson's Tale_. He hadn't read this book in many years but still was familiar with several of the stories. The _Parson's Tale_ was really a sermon on the Seven Deadly Sins and the Seven Virtues.

The translation provided was modern and fairly easy to read. Leaning against the wall, he began to read and quickly noticed that several passages were underlined and notes were written in the margins. "Interesting…" he murmured.

The first paragraph that was underlined read: "Saint Ambrose says that 'penitence is the mourning of man for the sin that he has done, and the resolve to do no more anything for which he ought to mourn.' And another doctor says: 'Penitence is the lamenting of man, who sorrows for his sin and punishes himself because he has done amiss.' Penitence, under certain circumstances, is the true repentance of a man that goes in sorrow and other pain for his misdeeds. And that he shall be truly penitent, he shall first regret the sins that he has done, and steadfastly purpose in his heart to make oral confession, and to do penance, and nevermore to do anything for which he ought to feel regret or to mourn, and to continue on good works; or else his repentance will avail him nothing."

A note in the margin stated: _'I am extremely sorry for my actions and inactions that have led to my failure to follow your ways. I ask for forgiveness.'_

A bit further down another passage was underlined: "The kinds of penitence are three. One of them is public, another is general, and the third is private. That form of penitence which is public is of two kinds: as to be expelled from Holy Church in Lent, for the slaughter of children and such-like things. Another is, when a man has sinned openly, of which sin the shame is openly spoken of in the community; and then Holy Church, by judgment rendered, constrains him to do open penance. Common or general penitence is when priests enjoin men collectively in certain cases, as, peradventure, to go naked on pilgrimages, or barefoot. Private penitence is that which men do continually for their sins, whereof we confess privately and receive a private penance."

In the margin next to the paragraph was another handwritten message: '_I have already begun to make a public show of penance. I ask to skip the common penance as described here and instead have sent a donation made to the Church to be used as you determine best.'_

Father Atias continued reading, focusing on the highlighted sections. "Now shall you understand what is necessary to a true and perfect penitence. And this stands upon three things: contrition of heart, confession by word of mouth, and restitution. As to which Saint John Chrysostom says: 'Penitence constrains a man to accept cheerfully every pain that is put upon him, with contrition of heart and oral confession, with restitution, and in doing of all acts of humility.' The second part of penitence is confession, which is the sign of contrition. Now shall you understand what confession is, and whether it ought to be used or not, and which things are necessary to true confession. First, you shall understand that confession is the true discovery of sins to the priest; I say 'true,' for a man must confess all the circumstances and conditions of his sin, insofar as he can. All must be told, and nothing excused or hidden, or covered up, and he must not vaunt his good deeds. And furthermore, it is necessary to understand whence his sins come, and how they increase, and what they are."

The short statement, _'My complete confession has been sent,'_ was written next to the text.

Flipping a bit further through the chapter, the priest came upon another highlighted commentary: "From anger come these stinking engenderings: first hate, which is old wrath; discord, by which a man forsakes his old friend whom he has long loved. And then come strife and every kind of wrong that man does to his neighbor, in body or in goods. Of this cursed sin of anger comes manslaughter also. And understand well that homicide--manslaughter, that is—is of different kinds. Some kinds of homicide are spiritual, and some are bodily."

A margin note stated: '_I have not committed bodily homicide, but I fear I committed spiritual homicide with my inactions.'_

Father Atias quickly skimmed through the discussion on the seven deadly sins and came to another highlighted passage: "The third part of penitence is expiation; and that is generally achieved through alms-giving and bodily pain. Now there are three kinds of almsgivings: contrition of heart, where a man offers himself to God; another is, to have pity on the weaknesses of one's neighbors; and the third is, the giving of good counsel, spiritual and material, where men have need of it, and especially in the procuring of men's food. And take note that a man has need of these things, generally; he has need of food, he has need of clothing and shelter, he has need of charitable counsel, and of visiting in prison and in illness, and a burial place for his dead body. And if you cannot visit the needy in person, visit him by your message and by your gifts. These are general almsgivings, or works of charity, by those who have temporal riches or discretion in counseling. Of these works you shall hear at the day of doom."

A pen-written note completed the paragraph: _'My almsgiving is complete and I expect my life to end with bodily-pain. Again I ask for forgiveness from those I wronged.'_

Father Atias slowly closed the book and stood up, walking around the room twice while rubbing his fingers on the spine of the book. It was late afternoon and the light filtering into the room cast long shadows on the opposite wall. The room was warm and stuffy with a distinct smell that came from several days of not showering and the waste pail. After pacing for a few more minutes, deep in thought, he sat down on the sleeping bag and slowly took a drink from the bottle of water. Grabbing a couple of napkins, he wetted them with a little of the remaining water and tried to clean himself as best as possible.

"The lack of news…the lack of human contact…the smell of neglect…Solitary confinement…now I truly begin to understand their fears associated with it," said the young man to the silent room with a sigh, thinking of the souls physically imprisoned against their will. "At least I have a book for comfort, which is more than most of them received." The overwhelming silence soon forced him to lie back on the sleeping bag.

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Late Saturday afternoon, the Harpers arrived at Gulls Way. Claudia immediately took over the kitchen with dinner preparations, leaving Frank, Milt, and Mark to sit by the pool and discuss the latest developments. Officer Riggs had gone off duty at 3 pm when Officer Smith had come on. As the judge and Frank discussed the bank records, Mark watched the young cop standing by the squad car. Harper had told them that the protection unit would be ending Sunday morning but until then, Officer Smith was with them for the evening and then Officer Williams would be watching over them from 11pm to 7am.

The bank records did indicate transfers of cash from Stefanzo to Detective Harris' bank account. The total amount was $12,000, deposited over the past two years in amounts of $500 each month, but it had stopped in February. This made the Judge a bit suspicious of the golden boy detective.

"Frank, has anyone talked with Detective Harris about this activity?" asked Hardcastle.

"Milt, we don't have enough information yet to warrant that type of questioning."

Mark interrupted, "Frank, Father Atias thought something was wrong with Harris's attitude and demeanor when his brother was killed. I think you should dig a little bit more into Harris's activities over the past month. See if his days or evenings off coincide with the times of the murders."

"Okay, I'll look into it, but quietly. I don't want…" Frank never finished his commentary as Claudia came out and announced that dinner was ready. She set a pan of lasagna on the table and gave Frank a look. Frank quietly stood up and went to the kitchen to retrieve the salad and garlic bread.

Frank returned to the patio at the same time that Hardcastle returned from retrieving a bottle of wine and several glasses. He smiled at the judge and said, "I see she put _you_ to work too."

"Nah, I suggested a bottle to go with dinner. She just agreed with my suggestion."

McCormick watched his two friends return to the table once their tasks were complete. He chuckled in amazement at how quickly the two men complied with Claudia's silent demands and wishes. The four friends ate dinner with pleasant conversation, which centered on how nice the gardens and patio planters looked. Claudia commented numerous times on how good it was to see something new on the patio and how different the color combinations were. Mark smiled as the judge said they were 'okay' …not what he wanted originally, but they would work.

"Milt, you _know_ you like them. I think Mark did a great job. Even Nancy would have approved," responded Claudia.

"Yeah, she probably would have…" Hardcastle grumbled.

"I hope so," commented Mark quietly. "I was looking through her books and noticed some notes that were written in the margins. I took her advice and tried to do something different."

"Well, you can design _my_ flower boxes anytime, Mark," offered Claudia with a smile.

"He can help with your gardens but not until he gets the lawn mowed, the gutters cleaned, and the oil changed on the Corvette," responded the jurist.

Mark smiled and winked at Claudia. "Judge, I already cleaned the gutters _once___this month. I think they're good to go for awhile. I can do the oil change tomorrow, but the lawn will have to wait until I can walk without the crutches."

"They'll both wait until the crutches are gone. You would probably hurt yourself changing the oil, just to avoid mowing the lawn," groused Hardcastle. "Go ahead and design the flowerboxes …it'll give your knee time to heal."

Claudia responded enthusiastically. "Great! Now, Mark, here's what I was thinking…."

**Chapter 18**

Late Saturday evening, another small bag of food was delivered to Father Atias. No more books were provided, but there was a note underneath another peanut butter and jelly sandwich. He sat quietly on his sleeping bag and read the message: '_Have you repented for your sins?'_

He quickly ate the sandwich and picked up the copy of _The Canterbury Tales_. Flipping to the back, he found a couple more sections that were underlined in pencil, but there were only minor notes in the margin.

"Now comes the sin of the double-tongued; such as speak fairly before folk, and wickedly behind; or they make a semblance of speaking with good intention, or in jest and play, and yet they speak with evil intention." The name _Dupre_ was carefully written in the margin. A little further on, he found**: **"Now comes betraying of confidence, whereby a man is defamed: truly, the damage so done may scarcely be repaired." This time there was no name, just the words, '_Atias'_.

Skipping to the next section, he read: "Now comes menacing, which is an open folly; for he that often menaces, he often threatens more than he can perform." There was no name, just the word, _'Uncle_'. He turned the page and read the next highlighted part.

"The remedy for anger is a virtue which men call mansuetude, which is gentleness; and even another virtue which men call patience or tolerance." A small note, _'I no longer have gentleness or patience, not like Jim. I can't sit back and wait. For that I am truly sorry.'_

As the last remaining rays of light vanished, the priest shut the book and began to contemplate, wondering to whom the book belonged. He had his suspicions but wouldn't be able to verify them until someone actually came to talk with him.

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The Sunday morning weather was cool and rainy as Mark and the judge sat at the kitchen table eating breakfast and listening to the TV news. The weatherman indicated the weather would be clear and the afternoon would warm to the upper-70's; perfect weather for working on a tan. McCormick wanted to sit out by the pool and draw some designs up based on his conversation with Claudia. She had some general thoughts on what she would like to see, and Mark had some additional items to include that he thought would be interesting. Now, looking out the window at the rain, the young man knew he was relegated to sitting in the den and working on the garden blueprint.

"Weather men are _never _correct! Listen to him stating it's going to be clear and sunny. Hah, take a look out your window, bozo…it's _raining_!" grumbled McCormick as he smashed the last bit of cereal into his milk, pouting like a small child.

"McCormick, it'll clear," stated Hardcastle looking across the table. "Now, quit playing with your cereal and find something to do until Mattie comes. Go read a book, watch TV, or take a nap. Just do something, _quietly_."

"Why are you so grumpy today? You're not the once stuck in the house on crutches."

"No, I'm stuck in the house with _you_, and you're fidgeting and pouting like a 5-year old. Now go on," ordered the judge as he stood to collect the breakfast dishes. "I'll clean up in here."

McCormick watched the judge briefly, then grabbed his crutches that were leaning against the counter behind him and stood up slowly. "Guess I'll go over to the gatehouse and work on the designs for Claudia."

"No you won't. The sidewalk is wet, and with your luck you'll slip and crack your head open. Go to the den and I'll get the books. I'll be back in a few minutes," stated Hardcastle.

"Fine. Bring me the two gardening books that are on the lower right shelf on the bookcase…and my notepad that should be sitting on the coffee table…and the catalog from Amador Farms. It should be on my desk upstairs. And….

"_McCormick_…" growled the judge who was beginning to regret his offer.

"Okay, that should be enough to get started. I'll be in the den." McCormick smiled at the judge, grabbed a bag of cookies from the counter, and made his way to the doorway. He looked back at the judge and smiled, "Grab the summer course catalog off the coffee table for me too." Mark turned and disappeared quickly, leaving Hardcastle grumbling about not being a bloody servant.

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Sunday mid-morning found Frank sitting in his office reviewing a bank record with Detective Parks. There were two things that both men agreed on; one was the need to talk with Detective Harris further, and the other was the need to question Jonathon Seton about a business partner.

Frank picked up the phone and called Detective Harris' home. When there was no answer, he left a message asking the detective to call back. Frank turned to Detective Parks, "Feel like going for a ride?"

"Sure. What are you thinking?" answered the younger man while grabbing his jacket.

"Time for a pizza," answered the lieutenant as he headed to the door.

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A little after two in the afternoon, Frank knocked on the door at Gulls Way and was surprised when McCormick opened the door. "Frank, what are you doing here? Have you found Father Atias?"

"No, we haven't found him yet. I'm sorry. But I need to talk with Milt. I had an interesting discussion over pizza and I think both of you should hear what I found out." The lieutenant stepped into the house and closed the door.

"Well he's in the kitchen with Mattie…she's making a German dinner for us. She said something about having taken a cooking class and wanted to see what we think about sauerbraten and spaetzle. Honestly, I don't care _what _she makes as long as there's beer and Hardcase isn't cooking."

"I take it that it's been a long day for you two…" Frank walked alongside the young man, heading to the kitchen. "…and I suppose I can assume that your knee is better since you're not using the crutches."

"Yeah…I'll be ready to resume my role of Tonto tomorrow, assuming Hardcastle allows me. I'm capable of driving the truck now, but it may be another day or two before I want to play with the clutch on the Coyote." They walked into the kitchen and Mark smiled at Mattie before saying, "Found another volunteer to help make spaetzle."

"Frank! I didn't know you were coming today. Did you bring Claudia?" exclaimed Judge Groves, who was standing at the stove over a boiling pot.

"Well, I didn't plan on coming over today so I didn't bring herwith me. Don't know how long, I'll be staying either. I need to talk with Milt and then get back to the office."

Hardcastle looked at the serious expression on Frank's face and handed him a beer. "Mattie knows what's been going on. What did you find out today?"

Frank pulled up a chair next to McCormick and took a long sip of his beer. "Well, I found out why Detective Harris was receiving $500 a month from Stefanzo. It appears that Stefanzo was financing counseling sessions for Geoffrey Townsend, and Lt. Harris was the one who was making all the arrangements for his cousin's sessions."

"Frank, what kind of counseling was Townsend receiving?" questioned McCormick.

"Well, Stefanzo said it was grief counseling, due to his mother's death, plus there were some other issues that he had to work through."

"Frank, why would Stefanzo pay for Townsend's counseling?" asked Mattie as she set a plate of cheese and crackers on the table.

"He's Townsend's godfather and a great-uncle on his mother's side," the cop explained.

"So, things seem legit," Mattie mused.

Harper turned to Hardcastle. "Milt we are checking with the counselor that Stefanzo mentioned. We would have asked Detective Harris, but nobody has seen him since last night when he met with Williams. When I spoke to him after our dinner here, he mentioned going to follow up on a lead on the break-ins I had assigned to him and Williams. He didn't answer his home phone when I tried to call earlier today." Frank took another sip of his beer.

"All right, I'll let you continue checking. Have you followed up with Townsend regarding the counseling?"

Frank swallowed and responded, "Not yet…if we can't connect with Harris soon, I will call Townsend to verify the story. Also, I did check on Harris' schedule, as Mark suggested. He was on duty for all but two of the murders. For those two, he had just come off duty and was on his way home. Mark had a good idea, but unfortunately it doesn't appear that Harris is our murderer."

"Unless he hired someone to do his dirty work for him."

"Milt, have you considered the fact that maybe it _isn't _Townsend or Harris?" asked Mattie. "I mean, you said before that Joe Cadillac gave you a couple of names."

"Judge, maybe, she's right. It might not be Harris." McCormick remarked. "I mean he _did_ apologize to both Father Atias and me."

"McCormick, _you _are the one that suggested something wasn't right with Harris. And you are the one that told me Father Atias suspected him. How come the sudden change in heart?" asked the judge.

Mark sighed. "Something doesn't sit right with this. Originally it was like Cain and Abel, but now I don't think so. Would a man who is getting emotional counseling set up for his cousin be capable of killing his brother? I don't think so. I mean, yeah, Harris said some things and lashed out…but I woulda done the same thing in his shoes. By the way, what did you guys dig up on Seton?"

Frank looked at Hardcastle before answering, "Nothing yet. I have a couple of guys working on it still. Lou died about three weeks ago, car accident. Nothing really has come up on his son. If he _did _join the family business, he is slippery enough to not get caught. He owns a couple of small companies…one is a pool cleaning company and the other is a janitorial supply and services company."

"Who are the customers for the janitorial company?" asked McCormick suddenly.

"Why do you ask?" asked Judge Groves as she placed a bowl of shredded red cabbage on the table.

"Just a hunch…see if Father Atias' church is one of the customers. Maybe you should check into the employees as well," responded Mark.

"I think we need more than a hunch before we start digging into those records," answered Lt. Harper. "I know a couple of judges that might give me a warrant to review those records, based on a hunch, but neither of them is working this weekend." The police lieutenant looked over at the two jurists and smiled.

"Okay, I get it. But I don't have anything other than a hunch." Mark grabbed a piece of cheese and looked back at Hardcastle. "So where do we go _next_, Kemosabe?"

"I suggest both of you sit tight and wait until we get some more answers," offered Frank.

"And I suggest the three of you grab a plate and come over here for fresh spaetzle and sauerbraten," offered Mattie.

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Father Atias paced the small room as Sunday slipped by in silence with no communication from the outside world. There were no deliveries of sandwiches, no bottles of water, no notes, and no outside contact; just his wandering thoughts on repentance and what his captor was planning.

As the sun faded and the light slowly ebbed between the cracks in the boarded window, Father Atias sat back on the sleeping bag and prayed-- for Mark McCormick's safety, for the families who had been hurt by this killer, and for the police department in hopes that they find the killer before he struck again. And finally, he prayed for a better tomorrow.

**Chapter 19**

Monday morning, the phone rang in Frank's office, just as he was picking up a thick manila envelope that had come in the weekend mail."Lt. Harper here. How can I help you?" A few words were spoken on the other end and Frank sank into his chair. "Thanks, I'll be right there." Hanging up the phone, he raked his hand across his face and let out a deep breath. "I gotta call Milt," he mumbled as he picked the receiver back up and began to dial.

Forty-five minutes later, Hardcastle's truck was pulling up next to Frank's car outside of a small well-kept home on the edge of Woodland Hills. In the driveway were two police cars, an ambulance, and an animal control truck. As Hardcastle and Mark got out of the truck, Frank came out of the house and met them.

"So, Frank, what have we got here?" asked the judge.

"Let me guess, based on the animal control truck, something with snakes?" offered McCormick.

"Yeah, our next victim…and it also narrows down our list of suspects."

"It's Harris, isn't it, Frank?" asked McCormick as he watched the paramedics bring a stretcher with a body bag out of the house.

"Yeah. Williams found him this morning. I guess he came over to pick Harris up for a scheduled meeting and when the door wasn't answered, he opened it. He heard music playing and walked in thinking Harris was just getting ready. Unfortunately, Williams found Harris tied up in the shower with about a dozen snakes. Animal control is just finishing up with a sweep of the house now…making sure there are no more."

"Was there a note?" asked Milt.

"Yeah. It's still inside." Frank motioned with his head back towards the house. "There's something else that you should see." The trio walked back to the house, and as they entered the small living room, Mark noticed a small table set as an altar, ready for communion.

"Frank, why's Father Atias' chalice and stole here?" asked Mark

"How do you know it's Father Atias', Mark?"

"Because, that's the one he uses when he travels to hospitals. I've received communion from it several times. He told me it was a gift he got when he left the seminary. The stole was handmade for him by the orphanage…the embroidery on the edges was done by some of the kids. It was presented to him last Christmas, a complete set for the church year. Green is for ordinary time. You don't believe Father Atias did this, _do _you?"

"No, Mark, I don't believe Father Atias is responsible for this murder. He is listed missing, and we do have a reported kidnapping with a witness. However, you do have to admit it doesn't look good with him missing and some of his personal items showing up at another murder scene," admitted Frank as he watched McCormick look at the small altar.

"Frank, where's the note?" asked the judge softly.

Frank went over to the makeshift altar, picked up a Ziploc bag with a piece of paper in it, and handed it to the jurist.

Hardcastle read, _"Now comes menacing, which is an open folly; for he that often menaces, he often threatens more than he can perform. You spent too much time focused on your duties and public obligations that you didn't put any time into your faith. I warned you that neglecting your faith would be your downfall. Others should take heed."_

"Definitely lower slope action…. Next are the unabsolved and lethargic sinners. Well Hardcase, I suppose I was wrong about you needing to watch out for snakes…just never thought it would be Harris." Mark sighed quietly, walked back through the front door and headed for the truck.

"Milt, I've got a few calls to make and then I'll let you know where we're going next. Detective Parks should be finishing up with the records from the cleaning company later this morning. I don't know if there is anything pertinent to find out there, but we are starting to run out of ideas."

"Thanks, Frank. I'm going to get McCormick back to the estate and put him to work pruning or mulching…kid needs something to do." Hardcastle remarked**. "**Keep us posted if you hear anything about Father Atias_." _

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Father Atias lay on the sleeping bag, watching the little bit of daylight filter through the cracks in the boards. Morning had arrived. He glanced casually over towards the cat flap and, to his surprise, there was a small bottle of water. He got up slowly and went to pick it up. He was dehydrated and hungry, tired and frustrated, and, for the first time in his life, wondering if God was really watching over him. He sipped the water and sighed as the dryness in his throat was relieved. After another sip he replaced the lid on the bottle and went back to the sleeping bag to sit down.

As the light in the room grew, he heard footsteps in the hallway. He remained seated with his back against the wall and waited. The footsteps neared the door and the sound of keys dangling on a key chain could be heard. Indecision gripped the young man; should he stand, should he call out, or should he remain quiet and seated?

Fortunately, that decision was taken from him when an unknown voice called out, "Stand back away from the door with your face against the wall. If I open the door and see your face, I will shoot you."

Father Atias slowly stood as the key turned in the lock. He turned and pressed his forehead to the wall as the door opened. "I see you were listening. Very good. Now don't turn around or try anything. Place your hands behind your back," ordered the cold voice from behind him. Father Atias did as he was instructed and the footsteps continued into the room until he felt the cold steel of handcuffs being placed on his wrists. He flinched and started to turn around. "Don't move. I don't want to kill you, _yet_," the kidnapper stated grimly.

The young priest stopped and lowered his head back to its position on the wall. "Why kill me at all? I have done nothing to you," he whispered in a voice hoarse from limited use. "I don't even know who you are."

"Oh, but indeed you _have_ injured me," replied the man as he quickly blind folded Atias from behind, causing the priest's head to snap back. "Now we are going for a little ride and to make a call. Don't give me any trouble and a friend of yours just might live." He spun the priest around and shoved him towards the door.

Father Atias gasped and tried to stay upright as he stumbled across the room. Then an iron hand grabbed his bicep and forced him to walk out the door and into the unknown.

**Chapter 20**

Frank returned to the office and found Detective Parks waiting in his office. He had a grim look on his face and a thick manila envelope in his hands.

"Detective Parks, I take it you found something of interest." Frank walked over to his desk and sat down.

"Yeah, and it's not what I expected. The cleaning businesses are legitimate, no signs of anything illegal. The Archdiocese states that Father Atias' church is a customer for the Seton's janitorial company."

"Okay, that doesn't surprise me. Mark's hunches have been fairly good lately. So what else do you have?"

"Well, I did get to look at the employee records, and while there isn't a Geoffrey Townsend on the list, there is a Jeff Townsend. He's been an employee for three years, first with the pool company and now with the cleaning company. Spotless record of employment-- on time, no problems…model employee."

"So what is bothering you, then?" asked Harper.

"_This_ is," said the detective as he offered the envelope to the Lieutenant. "It was sent to the newspaper editor. The editor called me with it because of the similarities to the Inferno killings."

Frank opened the envelope and pulled out a typed letter. He quickly read it and then picked up the phone and dialed. "Come on, pick up the phone…."he mumbled after a couple of seconds, then sighed when he heard the recording kick in**. **"Milt, it's Frank, give me a call when you get back."

"Lieutenant, do you realize that you have a package with the same return address as the one sent to the editor?" asked Parks, picking up the envelope that Frank had tossed on his desk earlier that morning and holding it out.

"What?! Let me see that." Frank grabbed the envelope and started to slice it open with a paper knife. "I saw this earlier when I got the weekend mail, but never got a chance to look at it before I was called about Harris." Once the envelope was undone,he carefully pulled out a typewritten letter and read :

'_Lt. Harper,_

_Saint Ambrose says that "penitence is the mourning of man for the sin that he has done, and the resolve to do no more anything for which he ought to mourn." __You have until Monday evening to catch me. After that, the lethargic and unabsolved sinners will join the excommunicated. I have offered my confession and given penance for my sins. After this, I shall enter the Earthly Paradise.'_

"Dammit! I wish I had gotten this earlier," fumed Frank. "Who is this guy, and where is he going to strike next?"

"My guess, based on McCormick's research, indicates a likelihood that we'll find our killer someplace with a beach and a cliff…but that could be any number of places around here," offered Parks.

Frank grabbed the phone and dialed again. "Milt, you're home...Good. Look, we have an unsigned confession and a note warning us that we have until this evening to find our killer." Harper paused while Hardcastle spoke. "No! You guys stay put. We don't know where this guy is going to go next and I'd rather not worry about you chasing off ..." Frank was interrupted momentarily, but jumped in again, "Milt, stay _put_. I'll let you know when we have some more information. Please, just this _once_ do as I ask…. Thank you, Milt. I'll keep you posted." The lieutenant hung up the phone and shared a look with the younger detective.

"Parks, do me a favor and see if forensics has found any fingerprints on the items brought back from Harris's house. Also, run the return address on this package through the computer system. See if we can find anything."

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Back at Gulls' Way, Mark was pacing the den. "Judge, what are we going to _do_? When is Frank going to call back?"

"McCormick… we are going to sit and wait. He said he'd keep us informed," stated the judge, looking over the files on his desk.

Mark fidgeted with his jacket zipper. "How can you sit there so calmly? I mean, the killer has Father Atias and I'm pretty sure that he plans on killing him next."

"Well, there's not much I can do since I told Frank I would wait for his call. If you've got so much nervous energy, why don't you put it to good use and clean the pool for a bit?"

The young man stared back at the judge for a moment in disbelief, then nodded his head and stalked out of the den. A few moments later the sound of the door slamming shut echoed through the quiet house. Hardcastle shook his head and sighed. "Kid's gotta learn to relax a bit. It'll all work out…I hope."

Mark walked past the pool and over to the ledge looking down on the beach. He watched the waves rolling up the shore, smoothing the sand into a sparkly golden landscape. The late afternoon wind was picking up, blowing his curly hair into his eyes. It was the type of day that he normally loved for walking on the beach, but he couldn't bring himself to enjoy it, too worried about the fate of the priest. He turned and went back to the gatehouse, entering his own bit of quiet solitude; his place of retreat from the problems of the outside world. The judge had his den and McCormick had his loft. Climbing the stairs, he lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling and letting his mind wander.

An hour later, the phone in the gatehouse rang. Mark reached over and grabbed it off his desk. "Hello," he answered quietly, then bolted upright and got to his feet. "Father, where _are_ you?" There was a moment of fear laden silence in the gatehouse as McCormick listened. "Yeah, I'll be right there, just sit tight." Mark put the phone down quickly and made his way to the bottom of the stairs, grabbing his jacket and keys off the desk on the way out.

He hustled over to the main house and walked into the den. Hardcastle was on the phone talking with Frank. Grabbing a notepad, Mark scribbled an address on it and pushed it across the desk. The judge looked at it and then back at McCormick, who shook his keys in the air and motioned towards the door with his head.

"Frank, Mark's got something. Meet us at 32215 PCH," ordered the judge as he hung up the phone and stood up. "Well, what's _this_ about?"

"Father Atias called. He gave me the address where he's at. It sounds like he got away from his kidnapper, but I think he was afraid of the guy finding him, because he sounded hurried and really nervous."

"Are you sure it's not a trap? Was it _really_ Father Atias on the phone?" asked Hardcastle.

"Yes, it _was_ Father Atias on the phone. It _could_ be a trap, I don't know. All I know is that he was calling me for help and that I need to go and get him, Judge." McCormick looked firmly at the older man.

"Okay, so what's the plan?"

"I drive in there with the Coyote. You give me a half hour head start. Then you and Frank come in as back-up," came the simple response.

"Are you sure you're capable of driving with that knee?"

"Yeah, I can drive with the knee. I've had worse and driven." McCormick headed for the door and the Judge followed muttering, "I hope you know what you're doing, kid."

000000

Something had bothered Harper about the address. It wasn't far from Gulls Way, and the note he had read earlier nagged at him worse than Claudia. Frank quickly placed a call to Detective Parks, who confirmed that the address was the return address on the package from earlier. The results of the fingerprints came back and his fears were further confirmed. He now knew who he was dealing with and it didn't make him happy. The call from Father Atias was clearly a trap and his friends were headed into it. Frank hung up with Parks and tried calling back to Gulls Way, but there was no answer.

Frank called the detective back, who agreed to be his back-up and would provide radio support in the event that additional help was needed. He grabbed his gun from his desk drawer and placed it in its shoulder holder before picking up his jacket and heading out of the office.

**Chapter 21**

McCormick drove the Coyote up the coast towards the address that Father Atias had given him. He pulled into the deserted parking lot of one of the state beaches and, climbing out of the car, leaned against the door as he scanned the area for any sign of the priest. The wind was blowing strongly and the sky had turned gray, threatening to provide another late spring rainstorm. Seeing a pay phone on the opposite end of the parking lot, he headed towards that direction, suspecting that it was the one used by Atias to contact him earlier. As he got closer to the booth, he noticed a trail off to the left, heading up the grass slope and towards a rock outcropping overlooking the water. There was a simpler path to the right, with a wooden staircase that led down to the beach; however, there was something that told him to take the left trail. It was a slow walk with the bad knee, and he limped a bit as the uphill exercise strained his joint.

As he neared a high point on the hill, the trail diverged again. He looked back up the path towards the parking lot and then back at his watch. Hardcastle should be pulling into the park grounds about now. Examining both paths, Mark decided to follow the right trail this time, leading out towards the ocean. The wind was blowing stronger and colder by the time he neared the cliff overlooking the ocean. The sky was threatening, spitting cold drops of rain occasionally against his face. He walked along the edge along a well worn track, looking down at the beach from time to time.

The trail began to ease its way down the cliff. It would have been an easy climb for a mountain goat or even someone who was steady on both feet, but with the pain in his leg worsening and affecting his balance, the rocks would occasionally crumble under his feet and he would slip further down, forcing him to lock his knee or risk a major fall. On one of these slides, he noticed a ledge about 50 feet further down on which Father Atias was sitting, propped against the cliff face. Still dressed in the clothes from the day of the abduction, the priest's hands were tied behind his back, and his mouth was gagged with a rag. He had a cut above his right eye and his cheek was swollen. Mark looked around quickly, trying to determine if anyone else was in the area or if Father Atias was alone. Not seeing anyone else, McCormick inched his way towards the priest. As he got closer, the bruises stood out more on the pale face as well as the dark bags under the cleric's eyes. He looked cold and exhausted.

"Father! Are you all right?" Mark called out as he crouched down over the edge of the trail, several feet above the priest. Father Atias nodded his head and then looked over towards the rock point. "Is the killer still out there?" Again the priest nodded his head. "Okay, well ,Hardcase is coming and he's got Frank with him. They should be here soon. Just hang on and let me see if I can reach you." McCormick lay on his stomach and tried to reach over the rim of the path towards his friend. His fingers just brushed the top of Father Atias' head. "I can't reach far enough to undo the gag. I'm sorry," he apologized.

Mark started to push up from the ground in order to stand back up when he heard the judge yell, "McCormick, look out!" At that moment, a tall shadow crossed his line of vision and he was shoved roughly over the edge. Mark let out a startled yell and tried to grab at the rock in order to break his fall and hopefully land on the ledge with Father Atias. He slowed his slide but continued past the priest and landed hard on a smaller ledge about ten feet further below, unconscious.

Hardcastle came running towards the man who had pushed Mark over the edge. As he got closer, the figure straightened up and turned to face him, revealing himself to be Geoffrey Townsend. He held up a gun and aimed it down the cliff. "If you wish McCormick to die now, please continue." The judge stopped instantly. "I had hoped for a sunset tonight, but something tells me that the rain is more appropriate. Tell me, Your Honor, which ledge shall be yours and which shall be McCormick's?"

"I don't think either is appropriate," answered the jurist. "So, Geoffrey…why the elaborate set-up? Why so many victims when the one you really wanted was Father Atias**… **or was it Joe Cadillac?"

"Oh, it wasn't Cadillac that I was after…no, it was my dear old roommate, the _traitor_," growled Townsend. "He never should have become ordained, not after he broke the seal of confession. I confessed to him that I needed mental help following the murder of my step-father. Shortly after that, I was asked to leave the seminary. It's _his_ fault that things have not gone as planned in my life," Townsend spat angrily.

Down on the first ledge, Father Atias tried to speak through the gag. Hardcastle caught the sounds coming from the priest. "Geoffrey, I think you should let Father Atias tell you his version. I don't think he agrees with you."

Pointing the gun at the jurist, Townsend looked at Hardcastle and then down at the priest. "No, I think not. Too many lies have already been told."

"Can you tell me why you killed the people you did?" asked the judge, stalling for time, hoping that McCormick was okay.

"That's easy. God told me to send the sinners to wait in purgatory. Many sinners were sent to hell last year. God chose me to help these sinners on their way," answered Townsend sincerely and calmly. His full attention was now on Hardcastle. "I chose each person for their sins based on observation. Some of them were criminals, much like your McCormick is. He'll make a nice 'lethargic' victim, especially since he is already on the lowest ledge…"

"Why did you kill Jim Adams or Detective Harris? They were family, after all."

"Well Jim was just convenient. He never really worked hard to make something of himself. He was content to stay where he was when he could have been so much more. My uncle always said it was a shame he never did much with his life. Lethargic, lazy, lackadaisical….all good words to describe him."

As Townsend talked, McCormick had regained consciousness and climbed up the slope to the ledge that Father Atias sat on. He quickly untied the gag and the ropes that bound his hands. Once free, the priest looked at McCormick and mouthed the words, "_Now_ what?"

"We wait. Hardcastle's got a plan," whispered the ex-con. "_God, I __hope__ he does_," he added mentally.

On the upper ledge, Hardcastle was still listening to Townsend's explanations. "Now, Detective Harris, he's a special case. You see, he really did _try_ to help me. But he went about it the wrong way. Kept taking me to counselors, made me take my medications, and threatened to have me committed to a psych hospital if I didn't turn my life around. I did all that he asked. Even got a job. He wanted me to do something more, encouraged me to start a bookstore since I enjoyed reading. He did all of that, but never let me go back to the seminary. I wanted to be a _priest_, not a bookstore owner. He didn't understand. It was _important _to me." Townsend's eyes flashed in anger for being denied his dream. "Harris also failed to make time for his personal devotions. I asked him several times to join me in prayers and ceremonies, but he was always too busy. He had no time for his faith, and in the end it bit him." Townsend looked directly at Hardcastle and then turned a bit and said, "So Lieutenant, you finally caught up with me. Surprised?"

Frank, who had been quietly walking towards the group, stopped. "Yes, I must admit that I am surprised, but then again, you haven't been taking your medication for several months now, have you?" Harper noticed the surprised look on Townsend's face. "Can you tell me why you had possession of Father Atias chalice and stole?"

"They should have been _mine_! If he," Townsend tilted his head towards the edge of the cliff, "had kept my confession private, then I would be an ordained priest now, and the parish would have given those to me, not him. They were rightfully _mine_ to use for my dear cousin's last meal."

"I talked with your counselor and I know about the different voices you hear, Geoffrey. Put the gun down and we can talk a bit," offered the police lieutenant.

"No, I don't think so. You see, Hardcastle here will die a violent death, and McCormick will be given the chance to confess his sins and ask for forgiveness before I kill him." Townsend glanced down on the ledge and noticed that Mark and Father Atias were together. "Ah, McCormick, so glad you could have this chance to talk with your priest before I kill you and the judge. Time for your last confession…make it a good one, because when I am done with Hardcastle, you're next."

Milt flashed a meaningful glance at Frank, who shifted his stance a slight bit. The judge approached Townsend, hands stretched out in front of him in a non-threatening gesture. "Geoffrey, can we talk about this? I don't believe you want to do this."

Suddenly the gun was pointed down the cliff at Father Atias. "No! No more talking. I am going to make Atias pay for breaking his vow to me. I may not be able to kill you, but I sure as hell will kill the man who ruined my life." Townsend pulled the hammer back on the pistol and squeezed the trigger.

The sound of gunfire erupted and chaos reigned for a moment. McCormick yelled out and shoved Father Atias to the ground as a large object fell past them. The next moment was full of ominous silence, and Hardcastle and Harper ran to the edge of the cliff and looked down, not knowing what to expect. The body of Geoffrey Townsend lay below on the rocky outcrop that Mark had previously occupied. His shoulder was bleeding and he appeared to be unconscious. On the nearer ledge, McCormick's body lay on top of Father Atias.

"Mark! Are you okay?" asked the priest anxiously as they both stirred and untangled themselves. "I'm sorry I got you into this…he forced me to phone the estate. I tried the main house first, but the line was busy so I took a chance and called the gatehouse…he was really mad and was threatening to shoot me."

"Yeah, the bullet just grazed me. Nothing new when you ride with the Lone Ranger," quipped Mark as he carefully lifted his body off of the other man. "Just another typical day in the office. And don't worry, you did the right thing by calling. You got lucky with the second call… I haven't been at my place much for the last week."

"McCormick?" hollered Frank, "Are you both all _right_?"

"Yeah. Just don't ask me to do anymore climbing. My knee and my arm are killing me."

"Don't worry, the ambulance and back-up should be here anytime now," offered Harper with a grin.

Hardcastle looked down at McCormick and remarked dryly, "Your plan didn't work so smoothly, kiddo."

"_Sure_ it did ,Judge. I ran point, and you and Frank were back-up. Worked just fine." Mark offered a lop-sided grin to the Judge. "Besides, I think I just earned another week with the knee elevated with an icepack. No gutters or pool cleaning for me."

"_McCormick_…" growled the judge as the sound of sirens could be heard.

Frank looked back at his two friends and shook his head. "I'll go direct the paramedics in this direction. Milt, you watch over Townsend until I get back--not that he should be much trouble at this point." Frank handed his gun to the judge and walked back up the trail toward the parking lot.

"Okay hotshot, I'll give you another week of rest…but you get to help with the paperwork on this one."

"Judge, I _hate_ paperwork…"whined the young man.

Father Atias smiled and offered McCormick a look of sympathy. "Well, Mark, I don't believe it's going to be as bad as the paperwork _I'm_ going to have to complete."

000000

Two weeks later, McCormick was cleaning the pool when a black Cavalier pulled into the driveway. Putting down the skimmer, he went around to the front. Hardcastle had already come out to greet the visitor.

"Judge Hardcastle," greeted Father Atias warmly with a handshake when he stepped out of the car. "Hello, Mark," he called with a wave to his friend as he emerged from the back.

"Father Atias. It's good to see you again."

"I just stopped by to thank you both for your faith in me and the help you have given to me over the last couple of months. I don't know what I would have done if I didn't have someone who believed I was innocent."

"Father, it's nothing. Just making sure justice is served," offered Hardcastle uncomfortably. "You do realize that none of this was your fault? Geoffrey Townsend was a sick young man who will now spend a long time locked up."

"Really, Judge Hardcastle, it _does_ mean a lot to me. I know how bad it looked and several of my own parishioners questioned my innocence. It means a lot to me that you had faith in me." Father Atias turned to Mark. "Especially _you, _Mark. You never flinched in your support. Thank you, from both myself and my dad. Turning back to Hardcastle, " And yes, I understand that this wasn't my fault, but it still hurts to know that so many lives were lost because of Geoffrey's anger towards me. He will spend quite some time in a psychiatric ward at the prison and will hopefully get back on his medication. In time, he may truly understand the sins he committed but until then… I can't help but hurt for what was done."

"Well for what it's worth, I know some of what it's like to be in your shoes, and it's not something I want others to experience. Besides, what are friends for if not to provide support and back-up when you need it?" Mark looked over at Hardcastle and then back to the priest. "You wanna stay for dinner? We never got to do that a few weeks ago."

"I'm sorry, Mark, but I am taking a bit of a sabbatical. My flight leaves in a couple of hours. I am going to spend a couple of months in Colorado, reflecting on what I have learned and rejuvenating my spirit so that I may provide better spiritual guidance and comfort to my congregation. I will be back in August." Father Atias looked Mark in the eye and said, "I need this time to myself. I now have a better understanding of some of the things that you mentioned in our discussions about last summer and how prison changes a person. I still need to figure some things out for myself before I can ever talk with Geoffrey again. I will write and let you know how things are going."

"I understand and wish you well. It probably will be a nice break from the routine around LA. At least you won't be playing basketball at 6 am with the judge."

"No, I will be rising at 4 am to ready myself for Vigils at 4:30, followed by meditation at 5:30, and breakfast at 6:30." Father Atias watched Mark shake his head at the schedule. "It's not _that_ bad, Mark, really. It's very relaxing and it will help me gain focus again. I'll take this schedule any day of the week over yours." Father Atias smiled warmly.

"Father, you are welcome to stop by anytime. Just give us a call and we'll have burgers on the grill waiting for you," offered Hardcastle with a handshake.

"Thank you Judge Hardcastle. Pop was right to trust you--both of you. You are a good team. Take care of each other, and God bless and keep you both safe." Father Atias turned to Mark and handed him a slip of paper. "Write me if you need someone to talk to. I may not reply immediately, but I _will_ answer your letters. Take care this summer. The kids are waiting for you to come back for another kickball game. Don't make them wait too long."

"I won't. Keep in touch." Mark pulled Father Atias into a gentle but warm hug. "Take care of yourself."

Father Atias pulled back and smiled at both men. "Dear friends, I'll see you in a few months." He quietly got back into his car and started the engine. "Try to stay out of trouble until I get back. I don't want to have to come back to visit one of you in the hospital this summer." With that he put the car in gear, waved, and drove slowly down the driveway.

"Stay out of trouble**…**like that's going to happen with _you_ around, McCormick," Hardcastle grumped.

"Me? What about _you_, Batman? Always looking for another bad guy to chase down," came the rejoinder from the younger man.

"Well, there _is_ this file I've been considering…."


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Notes and Reference Material**

These notes can be read before or after the story, depending on how much background information you feel you need. If you are familiar with Dante's Divine Comedy, than you can skip this section and go right or the story. This section contains general information on the levels that Dante and Virgil pass through in The Divine Comedy's Purgatorio. If you've never had the chance to read The Divine Comedy, I highly recommend it. I have enjoyed it since I first read it in high school. The Canterbury Tales by Chaucer is also another very good read, if you like classic literature.

Below is the complete prayer that the killer uses in fragmented form during the story.

**Lenten Prayer to Be Freed from the Seven Deadly Sins **

O meek Savior and Prince of Peace, implant in me the virtues of gentleness and patience. Let me curb the fury of anger and restrain all resentment and impatience so as to overcome evil with good, attain your peace, and rejoice in your love.

O Model of humility, divest me of all pride and arrogance. Let me acknowledge my weakness and sinfulness, so that I may bear mockery and contempt for your sake and esteem myself as lowly in your sight.

O Teacher of abstinence, help me to serve you rather than our appetites. Keep me from gluttony – the inordinate love of food and drink and let me hunger and thirst for your justice.

O Lover of purity, remove all lust from my heart, so that I may serve you with a pure mind and a chaste body.

O Father of the poor, help me to avoid all covetousness for earthly goods and give me a love for heavenly things. Inspire me to give to the needy, just as you gave your life that I might inherit eternal treasures.

O Exemplar of love, keep me from all envy and ill-will. Let the grace of your love dwell in me that I may rejoice in the happiness of others and bewail their adversities.

O zealous Lover of souls, keep me from all sloth of mind or body. Inspire me with zeal for your glory, so that I may do all things for you and in you.

Taken from the internet: 

Before arriving at the Gates of Purgatory, the travelers have to pass ante-purgatory, where the Excommunicates, the Lethargic, the Unabsolved, and the Negligent Rulers are.

THE EXCOMMUNICATE

However, also upon the beach are the souls of those who have died outside the Church. Those who died repentant but un-reconciled with the Church must wait outside of Purgatory proper for thirty times longer than they were outside the Church, though the prayers of those on Earth can reduce this time somewhat.

Those who have come to Purgatory by means other than an angel's boat will have a hard time finding a way further up the mountain from here - its lower slopes seem simply too steep. However, souls here can, with persuasion, reveal the path upwards, a steep and narrow cleft, so small that both shoulders brush its walls as one climbs.

THE LETHARGIC

After quite a hard climb, one emerges from the cleft in the rocks onto a terrace, the first level of Ante-Purgatory. From here Mount Purgatory can be seen looming above, and the shore can be seen below.

This ledge holds the negligent, those who postponed their repentance to the last hour, but who _did_ repent before death. There is a band of them waiting on this ledge. The Lethargic must wait, and pray, for a time equivalent to the time they spent drifting through unrepentant days before they can be admitted upwards, into Purgatory proper. Again, the prayers of those on Earth can reduce this time somewhat. All of those here are lethargic in behavior, as well as in religious observance.

The narrow cleft continues upwards from here to the next ledge.

THE UN-ABSOLVED

This ledge holds the spirits of those who had delayed repentance, and met with death by violence, but died repentant, pardoning and pardoned. Nonetheless, they must wait, and pray upon this ledge until they are allowed upwards into Purgatory proper. Mortal visitors will attract large numbers of those here, who wish to be heard, and absolved.

Again, the cleft continues upwards, but this time also leads around Mount Purgatory to the right.

THE NEGLIGENT RULERS

The cleft leads around the mountain to a valley cut into its side with the steep bare height of the mountain above. The path winds down into the valley to the level of its floor; it takes only three steps - far fewer than would seem necessary - to go from the side of the valley to its floor. The valley is very lush in floral, mineral, and water sources.

In the midst of the valley a group of souls can be seen singing _Salve Regina_. These are the rulers who were virtuous, but negligent of salvation in life, and who must now wait and pray here until they are admitted to Purgatory proper.

At dusk, all of those in the valley sing a hymn. Also at dusk, a snake comes to the Valley to tempt those who wait within it, and make them its prey. It always comes from the unguarded end of the valley, glancing backwards at times, licking and sleeking its scales "as though assured and leisured for the overthrow of those it sought".

However, to protect those within from the snake, a pair of Guardian Angels are assigned to the valley, coming "from Mary's heart", and fly downwards through the dusk. One settles close above where the path upwards enters the valley; the other on the opposite side of the valley. No one can bear to see the eyes of the Angels. They swoop down on and drive away the snake before it can bother those in the valley - if they did not, those inside (and elsewhere on the mountain) would be in danger of corruption, and falling, down the mountain.

A gap in the face of Mount Purgatory leads upwards from the valley.

THE GATE OF PURGATORY; THE ANGELIC GATEKEEPER

Going upwards again from the valley, one comes to the gate to Purgatory itself. At first this appears as a simple fissure in the wall of the path, but as one approaches, it becomes clear that it is, in fact, a gateway entrance, with three steps before it that shine blindingly in three colors. The first is white marble, polished to a mirror finish. The second is basalt, colored darker than purple with a rough finish and two cracks along its length and width forming the sign of the Cross. The third, and last, is flaming porphyry, brighter red then arterial blood. The gate itself is of solid banded iron.

In this blinding light sits an angelic gatekeeper, as glorious as the one bringing souls to the shore of Purgatory. He sits on a granite block, its feet on the third step, holding a drawn sword, with light reflecting from it like a bright flame, too near to the light of Heaven for mortal eyes. He wears a dusty-earth colored robe.

The gatekeeper guards the gate into Purgatory proper well, but will allow those who are sufficiently devout, and who have a valid reason through. Pleading devoutly will help in this. When Dante comes to the gate, the gatekeeper inscribes seven 'P's on his forehead with the point of his sword, one for each mortal sin, and advises Dante to not fail to wash them all off as he ascends.

The gatekeeper has two keys in his robe, one of silver and one of gold. These were given to him by St Peter, who advised him to err on the side of generosity when using them. Both are needed to open the gate when used in order, silver then gold. If the keys do not turn in the lock, then the person's entry to Purgatory is denied, at least at present.

If the gate does open, which it does with a shrill shriek of un-oiled hinges, the gatekeeper advises those let in not to look back as they ascend further - those who do are brought back to ante-Purgatory, perhaps because, in looking back, they show that they still have some urge for the sins below.

When passing through the gate, one hears a distant 'Te Deum'. The gate clangs shut behind those who are let in.

Beyond the gate, the way up is narrow and difficult, with the rocks to both sides being very irregular, the rocks receding back and protruding out at random. This makes the upward path slow to traverse...

**First Terrace**. The proud are purged by carrying giant stones on their backs, unable to stand up straight This teaches the sinner that pride puts weight on the soul and it is better to throw it off. Furthermore, there are carvings of historical and mythological examples of pride to learn from. With the weight on one's back, one cannot help but see this carved pavement and learn from it. At the ascent to the next terrace, an angel clears a letter P from Dante's head. This process is repeated on each terrace. Each time a P is removed, Dante's body feels lighter, because he becomes less and less weighed down by sin.

**Second Terrace**. The envious are purged by having their eyes sewn shut and wearing clothing that makes the soul indistinguishable from the ground. This is akin to a falconer's sewing the eyes of a falcon shut in order to train it. God is the falconer and is training the souls not to envy others and to direct their love towards Him.

**Third Terrace**. The wrathful are purged by walking around in acrid smoke. Souls correct themselves by learning how wrath has blinded their vision, impeding their judgment.

**Fourth Terrace**_**. **_On this terrace are those who were slothful in life, who loved the Good but who did not act to promote it as well as they might have. This terrace is of plain undecorated flinty rock. As one goes along it in search of the way up to the fifth terrace, a clamorous outcry arises from in the distance. This comes from a crowd of people running at speed along the terrace, weeping and crying aloud as they go. They are not allowed to pause in their running through night and day. Continuing around the terrace, one arrives at the way upwards, at which is stationed an angel, who invites travelers to 'Come hither' with a voice far beyond those of mortals in its sweetness and benignity. He has white, swan-like wings, with which he fans those who ascend the stairway past him. For Dante, he removed one of the 'P's which had been inscribed on his forehead.

**Fifth Terrace. **The avaricious are those who turned their eyes to Earth and its goods, separating themselves from God by their own will, by either desire for earthly things, or too great a rejection of them. Now where, in life, they did not lift their eyes to Heaven, their avarice holding them from high pursuits, now they must lie with faces and bodies pressed to the Earth until their sin is cleansed. Those doing so claim that there is no worse punishment in all of Purgatory.

There are so many people lying on the ground, sobbing tears and lamentations, that one must pick one's way carefully to avoid treading on them. When Dante was here, he felt Mount Purgatory shake as if in a mighty earthquake. When this happened, a cry of 'To God be Glory in Excelsis' rose up from all those in Purgatory. The mountain quakes in this way when someone at last ends the expiation of their sins and is freed to ascend the steep path, and all of those in Purgatory hail their release. Another angel stands watch at the entrance of the way up, and when Dante passed, he erased another of the 'P's from his forehead.

**Sixth Terrace** - The gluttonous are starved skeletons, with chalk-white cavernous faces, hollow eyes, skin tight to their bones and all the other signs of prolonged hunger. The scent of the apples from the tree on this terrace and the stream of water falling on the tree is irresistible, and they cannot help but eat and drink of them. Unfortunately, that is part of their punishment, as in doing so they are left hungrier and thirstier than before. A voice from out of the branches warns one of this fate and continues on, giving examples of the virtue of Temperance.

Continuing on around the terrace, one comes upon a second apple tree, with broad-spread fruit-laden branches. The apples, although appearing to hang low, are in fact held up just too high to reach. There is a crowd of sinners around the tree, raising appealing hands towards its fruit, until they become disillusioned and depart.

A number of those on this ledge are former highly-placed members of the Church, now paying the price for their indulgences in life.

When Dante passed toward the end of the terrace, a wind smelling of sweet graces and a million flowers brushed his forehead, as the angel's wings, shedding an ambrosial fragrance, erased the penultimate 'P' from his forehead.

**Seventh Terrace. **The lustful.One emerges onto the seventh terrace to face a field of tall, clear, flames,

held back from a narrow path along the edge of the terrace by a strong wind rising from below. There is a sound of voices from out of the fire, singing hymns, and those expiating their sins here can be seen moving in the fire, burning as they chant. They also cry of the virtues of husbands and wives and the obligations of marriage. There are two groups of persons here, the moving ones are those who committed unnatural acts of lust while the stationary are those who sinned no less, but by simply lusting too much, rather than wrongly.


End file.
